J-NRLF 


,/tu 


[  SECOND    EDITION  ] 


"CO.  AYTCH," 


MAURY  GRAYS, 


FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT; 


OR, 


A  SIDE  SHOW  OF  THE  BIG  SHOW. 


By    SATvl.    R.    \VATKINS, 

COLUMBIA,    TENN. 


"  Quaeque  ipsc  miserima  vidi, 
Et  quorum  pars  mayna  fui." 


CHATTANOOGA,  TENN.  : 

TIMES   PRINTING  COMPANY. 

1900. 


A  TYPICAL   CONFEDERATE    SOLDIER. 


PREFACE. 


"Co.  AYTCH."-  —  This  week's  Herald  contains  the  last  num 
ber  of  "Co.  Aytch"  that  will  be  published  in  the  paper.  The 
generals,  and  President,  and  Vice-President,  and  other  high 
officials  have  published  their  accounts  of  the  war,  but  Sam  Wat- 
kin*  is  the  first  high  private  who  has  written  up  the  common 
soldier  side  of  the  matter.  In  big,  gilt-edge  books,  the  general, 
the  President,  and  the  Vice-President,  tell  about  their  plans, 
their  battle,  their  retreats,  their  measures,  and  their  ideas,  and 
not  a  word  about  what  the  poor,  sore-footed,  hungry,  and  naked 
soldier  felt. 

In  "Co.  Aytch"  we  see  the  old  "webfoot,"  dressed  in  a 
dirty,  greasy,  gray  suit — or  rather  non-suit — a  cotton  blanket 
thrown  across  his  shoulder,  and  fastened  under  his  cartridge- 
box  belt ;  a  greasy,  dirty  haversack  hanging  down — very  thin  and 
flabby;  with  shoes  of  untanned  leather.  There  he  goes,  foot 
sore,  tired,  and  hungry,  but  chipper  and  sassy,  and  ready  for  the 
battle. 

In  "Co.  Aytch"  we  see  this  same  "webfoot"  in  camp,  cook 
ing  his  rations — corn  meal  bread,  corn  meal  coffee,  corn  meal 
soup,  blue  beef,  with  not  an  eye  of  grease  on  it.  He  lies  down 
on  the  cold  ground,  in  an  old  thin  blanket,  and  shivers  through 
the  night. 

In  "Co.  Aytch"  we  hear  this  "webfoot"  talking  to  his  com 
rades,  cheering  their  drooping  spirits,  discussing  the  situation, 
defending  the  general,  hoping  for  final  victory,  and  a  glorious 
return  home  to  father,  mother,  and  sweetheart. 

In  "Co.  Aytch"  we  see  this  same  "webfoot,"  hungry,  ragged, 
dirty,  and  footsore,  "on  the  battle's  perilous  edge,"  the  light  of 
victory  in  his  eye,  a  gun  with  a  gleaming  bayonet  in  his  hands, 
springing  forward  like  a  deer,  a  ringing  shout  upon  his  lips, 
rushing  up  to  the  breastworks,  behind  which  belch  Napoleon 


VI  PREFACE 

guns  and  volleys  of  musketry ;  see  him  cross  the  abattis  at  a 
bound ;  see  him  as  he  stands  upon  the  enemy's  ramparts,  shouting 
victory ! 

In  "Co.  Aytch"  we  see  this  same  "webfoot"  shot  down  by  a 
minnie  ball,  and  tying  cold  and  stark  in  death,  and  thrown  into 
a  common  shallow  grave,  unhonored,  unknown,  and  unsung,  far 
away  from  fond  loved  ones. 

In  "Co.  Aytch"  we  see  other  soldiers,  driven  by  hunger, 
stealing  hogs,  others  deserting  and  going  home.  All  this  we  see 
in  "Co.  Aytch." 

Every  old  soldier,  and  every  son  of  an  old  soldier,  should 
have  a  copy  of  it. — Columbia  Herald. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I— RETROSPECTIVE. 

We  are  one  and  undivided 

The  bloody  chasm 

Eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one.. 

Camp  Cheatham 

On  the  road 

Staunton 

Warm  Springs 

Cheat  Mountain 

Sewell  Mountain 

Romney 

Standing  picket  on  the  Potomac... 

Schwartz  and  Pfifer 

The  court-martial 

The  death  watch 

Virginia,  farewell 

CHAPTER  II— SHILOH. 

Shiloh 

CHAPTER  III— CORINTH. 

Corinth 

Rowland  shot  to  death. 


Killing  a  Yankee  sharpshooter 

Colonel  Field 


Captain  Joe  P.  Lee. 
Corinth  forsaken.... 


CHAPTER  IV— TUPELO. 

Tupelo 

The  court-martial  at  Tupelo 

Raiding  on  roastingears 

CHAPTER  V— KENTUCKY. 

We  go  into  Kentucky 

The  battle  of  Perryville 

The  retreat  out  of  Kentucky 

Knoxville 

Ah,  Sneak 

I  jine  the  cavalry 


CHAPTER  VI— MURFREESBORO. 

Murfreesboro 

Battle  of  Murfreesboro 

Robbing  a  dead  Yankee 


CHAPTER  VII— SHELBYVILLE. 

Shelbyville 

A  foot  race 

Eating  mussels 

Poor  Berry  Morgan *. 

Wright  shot  to  death  with  musketry 

Dave  Sublett  promoted 

Down  Duck  River  in  a  canoe 

Shineral  Owledowsky 

CHAPTER  VIII— CHATTANOOGA. 

Back  to  Chattanooga 

Am  visited  by  my  father 

Out  a  larking 

Hanging  two  spies 

Eating  rats        

Swimming  theTenn.  writh  roasting 
ears 

Am  detailed  to  go  foraging 

Please  pass  the  butter 

We  evacuate  Chattanooga 

The  bull  of  the  woods 

The  wing  of  the  "Angel  of  Death".. 


CHAPTER  IX— GHICKAMAUGA. 

Battle  of  Chickamauga 90 

After  the  battle 92 

A  night  among  the  dead 93 

CHAPTER  X— MISSIONARY  RIDGE. 

Missionary  Ridge 94 

Sergeant  '1  ucker  and  Gen.  Wilder ..    95 

Moccasin  Point 96 

Battle  of  Missionary  Ridge 97 

Good-bye,  Tom  Webb 100 

The  rear  guard 101 

Chickamauga  Station 102 

The  battle  of  Cat  Creek 103 

Ringgold  Gap 104 

CHAPTER  XI— DALTON. 

Gen.  Joe  Johnston  takes  command..  106 

Commissaries 110 

Dalton 110 

Shooting  a  deserter Ill 

Ten  men  killed  at  mourner's-bench  111 

Dr.  C.  T.  Quintard 112 

Y's.  you  got  my  hog 113 

Target  shooting..  116 

Uncle  Zack  and  Aunt  Daphne 117 

Red  tape ? 118 

I  get  a  furlough 120 

CHAPTER  XII— HUNDRED  DAYS' 
BATTLES. 

Rocky  Face  Ridge 122 

Falling  back 124 

Battle  of  Resacca 125 

Adairsville  octagon  house 128 

Kennesaw  line 130 

Detailed  to  go  into  enemy's  lines 130 

Death  of  General  Leonidas  Polk 133 

General  Lucius  E.  Polk  wounded....  133 

Dead  Angle 135 

Battle  of  New  Hope  Church 144 

Battle  of  Dallas 145 

Battle  of  Zion  Church 146 

Kingston 147 

Cassville 147 

On  the  banks  of  the  Chattahoocb.ee.  148 
Removal  of  Gen.  Joe  E.  Johnston...  149 
Gen.  Hood  takes  command 150 

CHAPTER  XIII-ATLANTA. 

Hood  strikes    152 

Killing  a  Yankee  scout 152 

An  old  citizen 154 

My  friends  156 

An  army  without  cavalry 157 

Battle  of  July  23nd,  1864 158 

The  attack 158 

Am  promoted 163 

28th  of  July  at  Atlanta 164 

I  visit  Montgomery 164 

The  hospital 166 

The  Capitol 167 

Am  arrested 169 

Those  girls 170 

The  talisman 170 

The  brave  Captain.. 171 

How  I  got  back  to  Atlanta 172 

The  death  of  Tom  Tuck's  rooster....  173 
Old  Joe  Brown's  pets 175 


CONTENTS.    . 


CHAPTER  XIII— Continued. 

We  go  after  Stoneman 176 

Bellum  Lethale 178 

Death  of  a  Yankee  Lieutenant 181 

Atlanta  forsaken 182 

CHAPTER  XIV— JONESBORO. 

Battle  of  Jonesboro 184 

Death  of  Lieut.  John  Whittaker 186 

Then  comes  the  farce 189 

Palmetto 191 

Jeff  Davis  makes  a  speech 193 

Armistice  only  in  name 194 

A  scout 195 

What  is  this  Rebel  doing  here? 196 

Look  out,  boys 197 

Am  captured 198 


CHAPTER  XV— ADVANCE  INTO 

TENNESSEE. 

Gen.  Hood  makes  a  flank  movement  201 

We  capture  Dalton 202 

A  man  in  the  well 203 

Tuscumbia 203 

En  route  for  Columbia 204 

CHAPTER  XVI— BATTLES  IN  TENNESSEE. 

Columbia 206 

A  fiasco 207 

Franklin 208 

Nashville 212 

CRAPTER  XVH-THE  SURRENDER. 

The  last  act  of  the  drama 219 

Adieu  221 


COMPANY  "AYTCH,"  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


CHAPTEK  I.— RETROSPECTIVE. 

ffWE  ARE   ONE   AXD  UNDIVIDED." 

About  twenty  years  ago,  I  think  it  was — I  won't  be  certain, 
though — a  man  whose  name,  if  I  remember  correctly,  was  Win 
L.  lrancy — I  write  only  from  memory,  and  this  was  a  long  time 
ago — took  a  strange  and  peculiar  notion  that  the  sun  rose  in  the 
east  and  set  in  the  west,  and  that  the  compass  pointed  north  and 
south.  Now,  everybody  knew  at  the  time  that  it  was  but  the 
idiosyncrasy  of  an  unbalanced  mind,  and  that  the  United  States 
of  America  had  no  north,  no  south,  no  east,  no  west.  Well,  he 
began  to  preach  the  strange  doctrine  of  there  being  such  a  thing. 
He  began  to  have  followers.  As  you  know,  it  matters  not  how 
absurd,  ridiculous  and  preposterous  doctrines  may  be  preached, 
there  will  be  some  followers.  Well,  one  man  by  the  name  of  (I 
think  it  was)  Rhett,  said  it  out  loud.  He  was  told  "to  "s-h-e-e." 
Then  another  fellow  by  the  name  (I  remember  this  one  because 
it  sounded  like  a  graveyard)  Toombs  said  so,  and  he  was  told  to 
"sh-sh-ee-ee."  Then  after  a  while  whole  heaps  of  people  began 
to  say  that  they  thought  that  there  was  a  north  and  a  south ;  and 
after  a  while  hundreds  and  thousands  and  millions  said  that 
there  was  a  south.  But  they  were  the  persons  who  lived  in  the 
direction  that  the  water  courses  run.  Now,  the  people  who  lived 
where  the  water  courses  started  from  came  down  to  see  about  it, 
and  they  said,  "Gents,  you  are  very  much  mistaken.  We  came 
over  in  the  Mayflower,  and  we  used  to  burn  witches  for  saying 
that  the  sun  rose  in  the  east  and  set  in  the  west,  because  the  sun 
neither  rises  nor  sets,  the  earth  simply  turns  on  its  axis,  and  we 
know,  because  we  are  Pure (i) tans."  The  spokesman  of  the 
party  was  named  (I  think  I  remember  his  name  because  it 


10 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  KEGIMENT. 


always  gave  me  the  blues  when  I  heard  it)  Horrors  Greeley ;  and 
another  person  by  the  name  of  Charles  Sumner,  said  there  ain't 
any  north  or  south,  east  or  west,  and  you  shan't  say  so,  either. 
Now,  the  other  people  who  lived  in  the  direction  that  the  water 
courses  run,  just  raised  their  bristles  and  continued  saying  that 
there  is  a  north  and  there  is  a  south.  When  those  at  the  head  of 
the  water  courses  come  out  furiously  mad,  to  coerce  those  in  the 
direction  that  water  courses  run,  and  to  make  them  take  it  back. 
Well,  they  went  to  gouging  and  biting,  to  pulling  and  scratching 
at  a  furious  rate.  One  side  elected  a  captain  by  the  name  of 
Jeff  Davis,  and  known  as  one-eyed  Jeff,  and  a  first  lieutenant  by 
the  name  of  Aleck  Stephens,  commonly  styled  Smart  Aleck! 
The  other  side  selected  as  captain  a  son  of  Nancy  Hanks,  of 
Bowling  Green,  and  a  son  of  old  Bob.  Lincoln,  the  rail-splittery 
and  whose  name  was  Abe.  Well,  after  he  was  elected  captainr 
they  elected  as  first  lieutenant  an  individual  of  doubtful  blood 
by  the  name  of  Hannibal  Hamlin,  being  a  descendant  of  the 
generation  of  Ham,  the  bad  son  of  old  Noah,  who  meant  to  curse 
him  blue,  but  overdid  the  thing,  and  cursed  him  black. 

Well,  as  I  said  before,  they  went  to  fighting,  but  old  Abe's 
side  got  the  best  of  the  argument.  But  in  getting  the  best  of 
the  argument  they  called  in  all  the  people  and  wise  men  of  other 
nations  of  "the  earth,  and  they,  too,  said  that  America  had  no- 
cardinal  points,  and  that  the  sun  did  not  rise  in  the  east  and  set 
in  the  west,  and  that  the  compass  did  not  point  either  north  or 
south. 

Well,  then,  Captain  Jeff  Davis7  side  gave  it  up  and  quit, 
and  they,  too,  went  to  saying  that  there  is  no  north,  no  south,  no 
east,  no  west.  Well,  "us  boys"  all  took  a  small  part  in  the 
fracas,  and  Shep,  the  prophet,  remarked  that  the  day  would 
come  when  those  who  once  believed  that  the  American  continent 
had  cardinal  points  would  be  ashamed  to  own  it.  That  day  has 
arrived.  America  has  no  north,  no  south,  no  east,  no  west ;  the 
sun  rises  over  the  hills  and  sets  over  the  mountains,  the  compass 
just  points  up  and  down,  and  we  can  laugh  now  at  the  absurd 
notion  of  there  being  a  north  and  a  south. 

Well,  reader,  let  me  whisper  in  your  ear.     I  was  in  the  rowy 


RETROSPECTIVE.  1 1 

and  the  following  pages  will  tell  what  part  I  took  in  the  little 
unpleasant  misconception  of  there  being  such  a  thing  as  a  north 
and  south. 

THE  BLOODY  CHASM. 

In  these  memoirs,  after  the  lapse  of  twenty  years,  we  pro 
pose  to  fight  our  "battles  o'er  again." 

To  do  this  is  but  a  pastime  and  pleasure,  as  there  is  nothing 
that  so  much  delights  the  old  soldier  as  to  revisit  the  scenes  and 
battle-fields  with  which  he  was  once  so  familiar,  and  to  recall  the 
incidents,  though  trifling  they  may  have  been  at  the  time. 

The  histories  of  the  Lost  Cause  are  all  written  out  by  "big 
bugs,"  generals  and  renowned  historians,  and  like  the  fellow 
who  called  a  turtle  a  "cooter,"  being  told  that  no  such  word  as 
cooter  was  in  Webster's  dictionary,  remarked  that  he  had  as 
much  right  to  make  a  dictionary  as  Mr.  Webster  or  any  other 
man ;  so  have  I  to  write  a  history. 

But  in  these  pages  I  do  not  pretend  to  write  the  history  of 
the  war.  I  only  give  a  few  sketches  and  incidents  that  came 
under  the  observation  of  a  "high  private"  in  the  rear  ranks  of 
the  rebel  army.  Of  course  the  histories  are  all  correct.  They 
tell  of  great  achievements  of  great  men,  who  wear  the  laurels  of 
victory ;  have  grand  presents  given  them ;  high  positions  in  civil 
life;  presidents  of  corporations;  governors  of  states;  official 
positions,  etc.,  and  when  they  die,  long  obituaries  are  published, 
telling  their  many  virtues,  their  distinguished  victories,  etc., 
and  when  they  are  buried,  the  whole  country  goes  in  mourning 
and  is  called  upon  the  buy  an  elegant  monument  to  erect  over  the 
remains  of  so  distinguished  and  brave  a  general,  etc.  But  in 
the  following  pages  I  propose  to  tell  of  the  fellows  who  did  the 
shooting  and  killing,  the  fortifying  and  ditching,  the  sweeping 
of  the  streets,  the  drilling,  the  standing  guard,  picket  and  videt, 
and  who  drew  (or  were  to  draw)  eleven  dollars  per  month  and 
rations,  and  also  drew  the  ramrod  and  tore  the  cartridge.  Par 
don  me  should  I  use  the  personal  pronoun  "I"  too  frequently, 
as  I  do  not  wish  to  be  called  egotistical,  for  I  only  write  of  what 
I  saw  as  an  humble  private  in  the  rear  rank  in  an  infantry  regi- 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

ment,  commonly  called  "webfoot."  Neither  do  I  propose  to 
make  this  a  connected  journal,  for  I  write  entirely  from  mem 
ory,  and  you  must  remember,  kind  reader,  that  these  things 
happened  twenty  years  ago,  and  twenty  years  is  a  long  time  in 
the  life  of  any  individual. 

I  was  twenty-one  years  old  then,  and  at  that  time  I  was  not 
married.  Now  I  have  a  house  full  of  young  "rebels,"  clustering 
around  my  knees  and  bumping  against  my  elbow,  while  I  write 
these  reminiscences  of  the  war  of  secession,  rebellion,  state 
rights,  slavery,  or  our  rights  in  the  territories,  or  by  whatever 
other  name  it  may  be  called.  These  are  all  with  the  past  now, 
and  the  North  and  South  have  long  ago  "shaken  hands  across 
the  bloody  chasm."  The  flag  of  the  Southern  cause  has  been 
furled  never  to  be  again  unfurled ;  gone  like  a  dream  of  yester 
day,  and  lives  only  in  the  memory  of  those  who  lived  through 
those  bloody  days  and  times. 

EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND   SIXTY-ONE. 

Reader,  mine,  did  you  live  in  that  stormy  period  ?  In  the 
year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one,  do  you  remem 
ber  those  stirring  times  ?  Do  you  recollect  in  that  year,  for  the 
first  time  in  your  life,  of  hearing  Dixie  and  the  Bonnie  Blue 
Flag  ?  Fort  Sumter  was  fired  upon  from  Charleston  by  troops 
under  General  Beauregard,  and  Major  Anderson,  of  the  Federal 
army,  surrendered.  The  die  was  cast ;  war  was  declared ;  Lin 
coln  called  for  troops  from  Tennessee  and  all  the  Southern 
states,  but  Tennessee,  loyal  to  her  Southern  sister  states,  passed 
the  ordinance  of  secession,  and  enlisted  under  the  Stars  and 
Bars.  From  that  day  on,  every  person  almost  was  eager  for  the 
war,  and  we  were  all  afraid  it  would  be  over  and  we  not  be  in 
the  fight.  Companies  were  made  up,  regiments  organized  :  left, 
left,  left,  was  heard  from  morning  till  night.  By  the  right 
flank,  file  left,  march,  were  familiar  sounds.  Everywhere  could 
be  seen  Southern  cockades  made  by  the  ladies  and  our  sweet 
hearts.  And  some  who  afterwards  became  Union  men  made  the 
most  fiery  secession  speeches.  Flags  made  by  the  ladies  were 
presented  to  companies,  and  to  hear  the  young  orators  tell  of 


RETROSPECTIVE.  13 

how  they  would  protect  that  flag,  and  that  they  would  come  back 
with  the  flag  or  come  not  at  all,  and  if  they  fell  they  would  fall 
with  their  backs  to  the  field  and  their  feet  to  the  foe,  would 
fairly  make  our  hair  stand  on  end  with  intense  patriotism,  and 
we  wanted  to  march  right  off  and  whip  twenty  Yankees.  But 
we  soon  found  out  that  the  glory  of  war  was  at  home  among  the 
ladies  and  not  upon  the  field  of  blood  and  carnage  of  death, 
where  our  comrades  were  mutilated  and  torn  by  shot  and  shell. 
And  to  see  the  cheek  blanch  and  to  hear  the  fervent  prayer,  aye, 
I  might  say  the  agony  of  mind  were  very  different  indeed  from 
the  patriotic  times  at  home. 

CAMP    CHEATHAM. 

After  being  drilled  and  disciplined  at  Camp  Cheatham, 
under  the  administrative  ability  of  General  R.  C.  Foster,  3rd, 
for  two  months,  we,  the  First,  Third  and  Eleventh  Tennessee 
Regiments — Maney,  Brown  and  Rains — learned  of  the  advance 
of  .McClelland' s  army  into  Virginia,  toward  Harper's  Ferry 
and  Bull  Run. 

The  Federal  army  was  advancing  all  along  the  line.  They 
expected  to  march  right  into  the  heart  of  the  South,  set  the 
negroes  free,  take  our  property,  and  whip  the  rebels  back  into 
the  Union.  But  they  soon  found  that  secession  was  a  bigger 
mouthful  than  they  could  swallow  at  one  gobble.  They  found 
the  people  of  the  South  in  earnest. 

Secession  may  have  been  wrong  in  the  abstract,  and  has  been 
tried  and  settled  by  the  arbitrament  of  the  sword  and  bayonet, 
but  I  am  as  firm  in  my  convictions  to-day  of  the  right  of  seces 
sion  as  I  was  in  1861.  The  South  is  our  country,  the  Xorth  is 
the  country  of  those  who  live  there.  We  are  an  agricultural 
people;  they  are  a  manufacturing  people.  They  are  the  de 
scendants  of  the  good  old  Puritan  Plymouth  Rock  stock,  and  we 
of  the  South  from  the  proud  and  aristocratic  stock  of  Cavaliers. 
We  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  State  rights,  they  in  the  doctrine 
of  centralization. 

John  C.  Calhoun,  Patrick  Henry,  and  Randolph,  of  Roan- 
oke,  saw  the  venom  under  their  wings,  and  warned  the  N^orth  of 


14  CO.    H.,    FIEST   TENNESSEE    EEGIMENT. 

the  consequences,  but  they  laughed  at  them.  We  only  fought 
for  our  State  rights,  they  for  Union  and  power.  The  South  fell 
battling  under  the  banner  of  State  rights,  but  yet  grand  and 
glorious  even  in  death.  Now,  reader,  please  pardon  the  digres 
sion.  It  is  every  word  that  we  will  say  in  behalf  of  the  rights 
of  secession  in  the  following  pages.  The  question  has  been  long 
ago  settled  and  is  buried  forever,  never  in  this  age  or  generation 
to  be  resurrected. 

The  vote  of  the  regiment  was  taken,  and  we  all  voted  to  go 
to  Virginia.  The  Southern  Confederacy  had  established  its 
capital  at  Richmond. 

A  man  by  the  name  of  Jackson,  who  kept  a  hotel  in  Mary 
land,  had  raised  the  Stars  and  Bars,  and  a  Federal  officer  by  the 
name  of  Ellsworth  tore  it  down,  and  Jackson  had  riddled  his 
body  with  buckshot  from  a  double-barreled  shot-gun.  First 
blood  for  the  South. 

Everywhere  the  enemy  were  advancing;  the  red  clouds  of 
war  were  booming  up  everywhere,  but  at  this  particular  epoch, 
I  refer  you  to  the  history  of  that  period. 

A  private  soldier  is  but  an  automaton,  a  machine  that  works 
by  the  command  of  a  good,  bad,  or  indifferent  engineer,  and  is 
presumed  to  know  nothing  of  all  these  great  events.  His  busi 
ness  is  to  load  and  shoot,  stand  picket,  videt,  etc.,  while  the  offi 
cers  sleep,  or  perhaps  die  on  the  field  of  battle  and  glory,  and  his 
obituary  and  epitaph  but  "one"  remembered  among  the  slain, 
but  to  what  company,  regiment,  brigade  or  corps  he  belongs, 
there  is  no  account ;  he  is  soon  forgotten. 

A  long  line  of  box  cars  was  drawn  up  at  Camp  Cheatham 
one  morning  in  July,  the  bugle  sounded  to  strike  tents  and  to 
place  everything  on  board  the  cars.  We  old  comrades  have  got 
ten  together  and  laughed  a  hundred  times  at  the  plunder  and 
property  that  we  had  accumulated,  compared  with  our  subse 
quent  scanty  wardrobe.  Every  soldier  had  enough  blankets, 
shirts,  pants  and  old  boots  to  last  a  year,  and  the  empty  bottles 
and  jugs  would  have  set  up  a  first-class  drug  store.  In  addition, 
every  one  of  us  had  his  gun,  cartridge-box,  knapsack  and  three 
days'  rations,  a  pistol  on  each  side  and  a  long  Bowie  knife,  that 


RETROSPECTIVE.  15 

had  been  presented  to  us  by  William  Wood,  of  Columbia,  Tenn. 
We  got  in  and  on  top  of  the  box  cars,  the  whistle  sounded,  and 
amid  the  waving  of  hats,  handkerchiefs  and  flags,  we  bid  a  long 
farewell  and  forever  to  old  Camp  Cheatham. 

Arriving  at  Nashville,  the  citizens  turned  out  en  masse  to 
receive  us,  and  here  again  we  were  reminded  of  the  good  old 
times  and  the  "gal  we  left  behind  us."  Ah,  it  is  worth  soldier 
ing  to  receive  such  welcomes  as  this. 

The  Eev.  Mr.  Elliott  invited  us  to  his  college  grove,  where 
had  been  prepared  enough  of  the  good  things  of  earth  to  gratify 
the  tastes  of  the  most  fastidious  epicure.  And  what  was  most 
novel,  we  were  waited  on  by  the  most  beautiful  young  ladies 
(pupils  of  his  school).  It  was  charming,  I  tell  you.  Rev.  C. 
D.  Elliott  was  our  Brigade  Chaplain  all  through  the  war,  and 
Dr.  C.  T.  Quintard  the  Chaplain  of  the  First  Tennessee  Regi 
ment — two  of  the  best  men  who  ever  lived.  (Quintard  is  the 
present  Bishop  of  Tennessee). 

ON  THE  ROAD. 

Leaving  Nashville,  we  went  bowling  along  twenty  or  thirty 
miles  an  hour,  as  fast  as  steam  could  carry  us.  At  every  town 
and  station  citizens  and  ladies  were  waving  their  handkerchiefs 
and  hurrahing  for  Jeff  Davis  and  the  Southern  Confederacy. 
Magnificent  banquets  were  prepared  for  us  all  along  the  entire 
route.  It  was  one  magnificent  festival  from  one  end  of  the  line 
to  the  other.  At  Chattanooga,  Knoxville,  Bristol,  Farmville, 
Lynchburg,  everywhere,  the  same  demonstrations  of  joy  and 
welcome  greeted  us.  Ah,  those  were  glorious  times;  and  you, 
reader,  see  why  the  old  soldier  loves  to  live  over  again  that  happy 
period. 

But  the  Yankees  are  advancing  on  Manassas.  July  21st 
finds  us  a  hundred  miles  from  that  fierce  day's  battle.  That 
night,  after  the  battle  is  fought  and  won,  our  train  draws  up  at 
Manassas  Junction. 

Well,  what  news  ?  Every  one  was  wild,  nay,  frenzied  with 
the  excitement  of  victory,  and  we  felt  very  much  like  the  "boy 
the  calf  had  run  over."  WTe  felt  that  the  war  was  over,  and  we 
would  have  to  return  home  without  even  seeing  a  Yankee  soldier. 


16  CO.   H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

Ah,  how  we  envied  those  that  were  wounded.  We  thought  at 
that  time  that  we  would  have  given  a  thousand  dollars  to  have 
been  in  the  battle,  and  to  have  had  our  arm  shot  off,  so  we  could 
have  returned  home  with  an  empty  sleeve.  But  the  battle  was 
over,  and  we  left  out. 

STAUNTON. 

From  Manassas  our  train  moved  on  to  Staunton,  Virginia 
Here  we  again  went  into  camp,  overhauled  kettles,  pots,  buckets, 
jugs  and  tents,  and  found  everything  so  tangled  up  and  mixed 
that  we  could  not  tell  tuther  from  which. 

We  stretched  our  tents,  and  the  soldiers  once  again  felt  that 
restraint  and  discipline  which  we  had  almost  forgotten  en  route 
to  this  place.  But,  as  the  war  was  over  now,  our  captains, 
colonels  and  generals  were  not  "hard  on  the  boys ;"  in  fact,  had 
begun  to  electioneer  a  little  for  the  Legislature  and  for  Congress. 
In  fact,  some  wanted,  and  were  looking  forward  to  the  time,  to 
run  for  Governor  of  Tennessee. 

Staunton  was  a  big  place;  whisky  was  cheap,  and  good 
Virginia  tobacco  was  plentiful,  and  the  currency  of  the  country 
was  gold  and  silver. 

The  State  Asylums  for  the  blind  and  insane  were  here,  and 
we  visited  all  the  places  of  interest. 

Here  is  where  wre  first  saw  the  game  called  "chuck-a-luck," 
afterwards  so  popular  in  the  army.  But,  I  always  noticed  that 
chuck  won,  and  luck  always  lost. 

Faro  and  roulette  were  in  full  blast ;  in  fact,  the  skum  had 
begun  to  come  to  the  surface,  and  shoddy  was  the  gentleman. 
By  this,  I  mean  that  civil  law  had  been  suspended ;  the  ermine 
of  the  judges  had  been  overridden  l?y  the  sword  and  'bayonet. 
In  other  words,  the  military  had  absorbed  the  civil.  Hence  the 
gambler  was  in  his  glory. 

WARM  SPRINGS,  VIRGINIA. 

One  day  while  we  were  idling  around  camp,  June  Tucker 
sounded  the  assembly,  and  we  were  ordered  aboard  the  cars.  We 
pulled  out  for  Millboro;  from  there  we  had  to  foot  it  to  Bath 
Alum  and  Warm  Springs.  We  went  over  the  Allegheny  Moun 
tains. 


RETROSPECTIVE.  17 

I  was  on  every  march  that  was  ever  made  by  the  First  Ten 
nessee  Regiment  during  the  whole  war,  and  at  this  time  I  cannot 
remember  of  ever  experiencing  a  harder  or  more  fatiguing 
march.  It  seemed  that  mountain  was  piled  upon  mountain. 
Xo  sooner  would  we  arrive  at  a  place  that  seemed  to  be  the  top 
than  another  view  of  a  higher,  and  yet  higher  mountain  would 
rise  before  us.  From  the  foot  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  the 
soldiers  lined  the  road,  broken  down  and  exhausted.  First  one 
blanket  was  thrown  away,  and  then  another;  now  and  then  a 
good  pair  of  pants,  old  boots  and  shoes,  Sunday  hats,  pistols  and 
Bowie  knives  strewed  the  road.  Old  bottles  and  jugs  and  vari 
ous  and  sundry  articles  were  lying  pell-mell  everywhere.  Up 
and  up,  and  onward  and  upward  we  pulled  and  toiled,  until  we 
reached  the  very  top,  when  there  burst  upon  our  view  one  of  the 
grandest  and  most  beautiful  landscapes  we  ever  beheld. 

Xestled  in  the  valley  right  before  us  is  Bath  Alum  and 
Warm  Springs.  It  seemed  to  me  at  that  time,  and  since,  a 
glimpse  of  a  better  and  brighter  world  beyond,  to  the  weary 
Christian  pilgrim  who  may  have  been  toiling  on  his  journey  for 
years.  A  glad  shout  arose  from  those  who  had  gained  the  top, 
which  cheered  and  encouraged  the  others  to  persevere.  At  last 
we  got  to  Warm  Springs.  Plere  they  had  a  nice  warm  dinner 
waiting  for  us.  They  had  a  large  bath-house  at  Warm  Springs. 
A  large  pool  of  water  arranged  so  that  a  person  could  go  in  any 
depth  he  might  desire.  It  was  a  free  thing,  and  we  pitched  in. 
We  had  no  idea  of  the  enervating  effect  it  would  have  upon  our 
physical  systems,  and  as  the  water  was  but  little  past  tepid,  we 
stayed  in  a  good  long  time.  But  when  we  came  out  we  were  as 
limp  as  dishrags.  About  this  time  the  assembly  sounded  and 
we  were  ordered  to  march.  But  we  couldn't  march  worth  a 
cent.  There  we  had  to  stay  until  our  systems  had  had  sufficient 
recuperation.  And  we  would  wonder  what  all  this  marching 
was  for,  as  the  war  was  over  anyhow. 

The  second  day  after  leaving  Warm  Springs  we  came  to 
Big  Springs.  It  was  in  the  month  of  August,  and  the  biggest 
white  frost  fell  that  I  ever  saw  in  winter. 

The  Yankees  were  reported  to  be  in  close  proximity  to  us, 


18  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

and  Captain  Field  with  a  detail  of  ten  men  was  sent  forward  on 
the  scout.  I  was  on  the  detail,  and  when  we  left  camp  that 
evening,  it  was  dark  and  dreary  and  drizzling  rain.  After  a 
while  the  rain  began  to  come  down  harder  and  harder,  and  every 
one  of  us  was  wet  and  drenched  to  the  skin — guns,  cartridges 
and  powder.  The  next  morning  about  daylight,  while  standing 
videt,  I  saw  a  body  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  Yankees  approach 
ing,  and  I  raised  my  gun  for  the  purpose  of  shooting,  and  pulled 
down,  but  the  cap  popped.  They  discovered  me  and  popped 
three  or  four  caps  at  me ;  their  powder  was  wet  also.  Before  I 
could  get  on  a  fresh  cap,  Captain  Field  came  running  up  with 
his  seven-shooting  rifle,  and  the  first  fire  he  killed  a  Yankee. 
They  broke  and  run.  Captain  Field  did  all  the  firing,  but  every 
time  he  pulled  down  he  brought  a  Yankee.  I  have  forgotten  the 
number  that  he  did  kill,  but  if  I  am  not  mistaken  it  was  either 
twenty  or  twenty-one,  for  I  remember  the  incident  was  in  almost 
every  Southern  paper  at  that  time,  and  the  general  comments 
were  that  one  Southern  man  was  equal  to  twenty  Yankees. 
While  we  were  in  hot  pursuit,  one  truly  brave  and  magnanimous 
Yankee,  who  had  been  badly  wounded,  said,  "Gentlemen,  you 
have  killed  me,  but  not  a  hundred  yards  from  here  is  the  main 
line."  We  did  not  go  any  further,  but  halted  right  there,  and 
after  getting  all  the  information  that  we  could  out  of  the 
wounded  Yankee,  we  returned  to  camp. 

One  evening,  General  Robert  E.  Lee  came  to  our  camp. 
He  was  a  fine-looking  gentleman,  and  wore  a  moustache.  He 
was  dressed  in  blue  cottonade  and  looked  like  some  good  boy's 
grandpa.  I  felt  like  going  up  to  him  and  saying  good  evening. 
Uncle  Bob !  I  am  not  certain  at  this  late  day  that  I  did  not  do 
so.  I  remember  going  up  mighty  close  and  sitting  there  and 
listening  to  his  conversation  with  the  officers  of  our  regiment. 
He  had  a  calm  and  collected  air  about  him,  his  voice  was  kind 
and  tender,  and  his  eye  was  as  gentle  as  a  dove's.  His  whole 
make-up  of  form  and  person,  looks  and  manner  had  a  kind  of 
gentle  and  soothing  magnetism  about  it  that  drew  every  one  to 
him  and  made  them  love,  respect,  and  honor  him.  I  fell  in  love 
with  the  old  gentleman  and  felt  like  going  home  with  him.  I 


RETROSPECTIVE.  IS) 

know  I  have  never  seen  a  finer  looking  man,  nor  one  with  more 
kind  and  gentle  features  and  manners.  His  horse  was  standing 
nipping  the  grass,  and  when  I  saw  that  he  was  getting  ready  to 
start  I  ran  and  caught  his  horse  and  led  him  up  to  him.  He 
took  the  reins  of  the  bridle  in  his  hand  and  said,  'thank  you,  my 
son,"  rode  off,  and  my  heart  went  with  him.  There  was  none 
of  his  staff  with  him ;  he  had  on  no  sword  or  pistol,  or  anything 
to  show  his  rank.  The  only  thing  that  I  remember  he  had  was 
an  opera-glass  hung  over  his  shoulder  by  a  strap. 

Leaving  Big  Springs,  we  marched  on  day  by  day,  across 
Greenbrier  and  Gauley  rivers  to  Huntersville,  a  little  but 
sprightly  town  hid  in  the  very  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 
The  people  live  exceedingly  well  in  these  mountains.  They 
had  plenty  of  honey  and  buckwheat  cakes,  and  they  called  butter 
milk  "sour-milk,"  and  sour-milk  weren't  fit  for  pigs;  they 
couldn't  see  how  folks  drank  sour-milk.  But  sour-kraut  was 
good.  Everything  seemed  to  grow  in  the  mountains — potatoes, 
Irish  and  sweet;  onions,  snap  beans,  peas — though  the  country 
was  very  thinly  populated.  Deer,  bear,  and  foxes,  as  well  as 
wild  turkeys,  and  rabbits  and  squirrels  abounded  everywhere. 
Apples  and  peaches  were  abundant,  and  everywhere  the  people 
had  apple-butter  for  every  meal;  and  occasionally  we  would 
come  across  a  small-sized  distillery,  which  we  would  at  once 
start  to  doing  duty.  We  drank  the  singlings  while  they  were 
hot,  but  like  the  old  woman  who  could  not  eat  corn  bread  until 
she  heard  that  they  made  whisky  out  of  corn,  then  she  could 
manage  to  "worry  a  little  of  it  down ;"  so  it  was  with  us  and  the 
singlings. 

From  this  time  forward,  we  were  ever  on  the  march — 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp — always  on  the  march.  Lee's  corps, 
Stonewall  Jackson's  division — I  refer  you  to  the  histories  for 
the  marches  and  tramps  made  by  these  commanders  the  first 
year  of  the  war.  Well,  we  followed  them. 

CHEAT  MOUNTAIN. 

One  evening  about  4  o'clock,  the  drummers  of  the  regiment 
began  to  beat  their  drums  as  hard  as  they  could  stave,  and  I  saw 
men  running  in  every  direction,  and  the  camp  soon  became  one 


20  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

scene  of  hurry  and  excitement.  I  asked  some  one  what  all  this 
hubbub  meant.  He  looked  at  me  with  utter  astonishment.  I 
saw  soldiers  running  to  their  tents  and  grabbing  their  guns  and 
cartridge-boxes  and  hurry  out  again,  the  drums  still  rolling  and 
rattling.  I  asked  several  other  fellows  what  in  the  dickens  did 
all  this  mean  ?  Finally  one  fellow,  who  seemed  scared  almost 
out  of  his  wits,  answered  between  a  wail  and  a  shriek,  "Why, 
sir,  they  are  beating  the  long  roll."  Says  I,  "What  is  the  long 
roll  for  ?"  "The  long  roll,  man,  the  long  roll !  Get  your  gun ; 
they  are  beating  the  long  roll!"  This  was  all  the  information 
that  I  could  get.  It  was  the  first,  last,  and  only  long  roll  that  I 
ever  heard.  But,  then  everything  was  new,  and  Colonel  Maney, 
ever  prompt,  ordered  the  assembly.  Without  any  command  or 
bugle  sound,  or  anything,  every  soldier  was  in  his  place.  Tents, 
knapsacks  and  everything  was  left  indiscriminately. 

We  were  soon  on  the  march,  and  we  marched  on  and  on 
and  on.  About  night  it  began  to  rain.  All  our  blankets  were 
back  in  camp,  but  we  were  expected  every  minute  to  be  ordered 
into  action.  That  night  we  came  to  Mingo  Flats.  The  rain 
still  poured.  We  had  no  rations  to  eat  and  nowhere  to  sleep. 
Some  of  us  got  some  fence  rails  and  piled  them  together  and 
worried  through  the  night  as  best  we  could.  The  next  morning* 
we  were  ordered  to  march  again,  but  we  soon  began  to  get  hun 
gry,  and  we  had  about  half  halted  and  about  not  halted  at  all. 
Some  of  the  boys  were  picking  blackberries.  The  main  body 
of  the  regiment  was  marching  leisurely  along  the  road,  when 
bang,  debang,  debang,  bang,  and  a  volley  of  buck  and  ball  came 
hurling  right  through  the  two  advance  companies  of  the  regi 
ment — companies  H  and  K.  We  had  marched  into  a  Yankee 
ambuscade. 

All  at  once  everything  was  a  scene  of  consternation  and 
confusion ;  no  one  seemed  equal  to  the  emergency.  We  did  not 
know  whether  to  run  or  stand,  when  Captain  Field  gave  the 
command  to  fire  and  charge  the  bushes.  We  charged  the 
bushes  and  saw  the  Yankees  running  through  them,  and  we 
fired  on  them  as  they  retreated.  I  do  not  know  how  many  Yan 
kees  were  killed,  if  any.  Our  company  (H)  had  one  man 


RETROSPECTIVE.  21 

killed,  Pat  Hanley,  an  Irishman,  who  had  joined  our  company 
at  Chattanooga.  Hugh  Padgett  and  Dr.  Hooper,  and  perhaps 
one  or  two  others,  were  wounded. 

After  the  fighting  was  over,  where,  O  where,  was  all  the 
fine  rigging  heretofore  on  our  officers  ?  They  could  not  be  seen. 
Corporals,  sergeants,  lieutenants,  captains,  all  had  torn  all  the 
fine  lace  off  their  clothing.  I  noticed  that  at  the  time  and  was 
surprised  and  hurt.  I  asked  several  of  them  why  they  had  torn 
off  the  insignia  of  their  rank,  and  they  always  answered, 
'"Humph,  you  think  that  I  was  going  to  be  a  target  for  the  Yan 
kees  to  shoot  at?"  You  see,  this  was  our  first  battle,  and  the 
officers  had  not  found  out  that  minnie  as  well  as  cannon  balls 
were  blind ;  that  they  had  no  eyes  and  could  not  see.  They 
thought  that  the  balls  would  hunt  for  them  and  not  hurt  the 
privates.  I  always  shot  at  privates.  It  was  they  that  did  the 
shooting  and  killing,  and  if  I  could  kill  or  wound  a  private,  why, 
my  chances  were  so  much  the  better.  I  always  looked  upon 
officers  as  harmless  personages.  Colonel  Field,  I  suppose,  was 
about  the  only  Colonel  of  the  war  that  did  as  much  shooting  as 
the  private  soldier.  If  I  shot  at  an  officer,  it  was  at  long  range, 
but  when  we  got  down  to  close  quarters  I  always  tried  to  kill 
those  that  were  trying  to  kill  me. 

SEWELL  MOUNTAIN". 

From  Cheat  Mountain  we  went  by  forced  marches  day  and 
night,  over  hill  and  everlasting  mountains,  and  through  lovely 
and  smiling  valleys,  sometimes  the  country  rich  and  productive, 
sometimes  rough  and  broken,  through  towns  and  villages,  the 
names  of  which  I  have  forgotten,  crossing  streams  and  rivers, 
but  continuing  our  never  ceasing,  unending  march,  passing- 
through  the  Kanawha  Valley  and  by  the  salt-works,  and  nearly 
back  to  the  Ohio  river,  when  we  at  last  reached  Sewell  Moun 
tain.  Here  we  found  General  John  B.  Floyd  strongly  en 
trenched  and  fortified  and  facing  the  advance  of  the  Federal 
army.  Two  days  before  our  arrival  he  had  charged  and  cap 
tured  one  line  of  the  enemy's  works.  I  know  nothing  of  the 
battle.  See  the  histories  for  that.  I  only  write  from  memory, 
and  that  was  twenty  years  ago,  but  I  remember  reading  in  the 


22  CO.  II.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

newspapers  at  that  time  of  some  distinguished  man,  whether  he 
was  captain,  colonel  or  general,  I  have  forgotten,  but  I  know 
the  papers  said  "he  sought  the  bauble,  reputation,  at  the  cannon's 
mouth,  and  went  to  glory  from  the  death-bed  of  fame."  I 
remember  it  sounded  gloriously  in  print.  Now,  reader,  this  is 
all  I  know  of  this  grand  battle.  I  only  recollect  what  the  news 
papers  said  about  it,  and  you  know  that  a  newspaper  always 
tells  the  truth.  I  also  know  that  beef  livers  sold  for  one  dollar 
apiece  in  gold ;  and  here  is  where  we  were  first  paid  off  in  Con 
federate  money.  Remaining  here  a  few  days,  we  commenced 
our  march  again. 

Sewell  Mountain,  Harrisonburg,  Lewisburg,  Kanawha 
Salt-works,  first  four,  forward  and  back,  seemed  to  be  the  pro 
gramme  of  that  day.  Rosecrans,  that  wiley  old  fox,  kept  Lee 
and  Jackson  both  busy  trying  to  catch  him,  but  Rosey  would  not 
be  caught.  March,  march,  march;  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  back 
through  the  valley  to  Huntersville  and  Warm  Springs,  and  Tip 
through  the  most  beautiful  valley — the  Shenandoah — in  the 
world,  passing  towns  and  elegant  farms  and  beautiful  residences, 
rich  pastures  and  abundant  harvests,  which  a  Federal  General 
(Fighting  Joe  Hooker),  later  in  the  war,  ordered  to  be  so  sacked 
and  destroyed  that  a  "crow  passing  over  this  valley  would  have 
to  carry  his  rations."  Passing  on,  we  arrived  at  Winchester. 
The  first  night  we  arrived  at  this  place,  the  wind  blew  a  perfect 
hurricane,  and  every  tent  and  marquee  in  Lee's  and  Jackson's 
army  was  blown  down.  This  is  the  first  sight  we  had  of  Stone 
wall  Jackson,  riding  upon  his  old  sorrel  horse,  his  feet  drawn  up 
as  if  his  stirrups  were  much  too  short  for  him,  and  his  old  dingy 
military  cap  hanging  well  forward  over  his  head,  and  his  nose 
erected  in  the  air,  his  old  rusty  sabre  rattling  by  his  side.  This 
is  the  way  the  grand  old  hero  of  a  hundred  battles  looked.  His 
spirit  is  yonder  with  the  blessed  ones  that  have  gone  before,  but 
his  history  is  one  that  the  country  will  ever  be  proud  of,  and  his 
memory  will  be  cherished  and  loved  by  the  old  soldiers  who  fol 
lowed  him  through  the  war. 

•  ROMNEY. 

Our  march  to  and  from  Romney  was  in  midwinter,  in  the 


RETROSPECTIVE.  23 

month  of  January,  1862.  It  was  the  coldest  winter  known  to 
the  oldest  inhabitant  of  these  regions.  Situated  in  the  most 
mountainous  country  in  Virginia,  and  away  up  near  the  Mary 
land  and  Pennsylvania  line,  the  storm  king  seemed  to  rule  in  all 
of  his  majesty  and  power.  Snow  and  rain  and  sleet  and  tempest 
seemed  to  ride  and  laugh  and  shriek  and  howl  and  moan  and 
groan  in  all  their  fury  and  wrath.  The  soldiers  on  this  march 
got  very  much  discouraged  and  disheartened.  As  they  marched 
along  icicles  hung  from  their  clothing,  guns,  and  knapsacks; 
many  were  badly  frost  bitten,  and  I  heard  of  many  freezing  to 
death  along  the  road  side.  My  feet  peeled  off  like  a  peeled 
onion  on  that  march,  and  I  have  not  recovered  from  its  effects  to 
this  day.  The  snow  and  ice  on  the  ground  being  packed  by  the 
soldiers  tramping,  the  horses  hitched  to  the  artillery  wagons 
were  continually  slipping  and  sliding  and  falling  and  wounding 
themselves  and  sometimes  killing  their  riders.  The  wind 
whistling  with  a  keen  and  piercing  shriek,  seemed  as  if  they 
would  freeze  the  marrow  in  our  bones.  The  soldiers  in  the 
whole  army  got  rebellious — almost  mutinous — and  would  curse 
and  abuse  Stonewall  Jackson ;  in  fact,  they  called  him  aFool 
Tom  Jackson."  They  blamed  him  for  the  cold  weather;  they 
blamed  him  for  everything,  and  when  he  would  ride  by  a  regi 
ment  they  would  take  occasion,  sotto  voce,  to  abuse  him,  and  call 
him  "Fool  Tom  Jackson,"  and  loud  enough  for  him  to  hear. 
•Soldiers  from  all  commands  would  fall  out  of  ranks  and  stop  by 
the  road  side  and  swear  that  they  would  not  follow  such  a  leader 
any  longer. 

When  Jackson  got  to  Romney,  and  was  ready  to  strike 
Banks  and  Meade  in  a  vital  point,  and  which  would  have 
changed,  perhaps,  the  destiny  of  the  war  and  the  South,  his 
troops  refused  to  march  any  further,  and  he  turned,  marched 
back  to  Winchester  and  tendered  his  resignation  to  the  authori 
ties  at  Richmond.  But  the  great  leader's  resignation  was  not 
accepted.  It  was  in  store  for  him  to  do  some  of  the  hardest 
fighting  and  greatest  generalship  that  was  done  during  the  war. 

One  night  at  this  place  (Romney),  I  was  sent  forward  with 
two  other  soldiers  across  the  wire  bridge  as  picket.  One  of 


24  CO.   II.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

them  was  named  Schwartz  and  the  other  Pfifer — he  called  it 
Fif er,  but  spelled  it  with  a  P — both  full-blooded  Dutchmen,  and 
belonging  to  Company  E,  or  the  German  Yagers,  Captain  Harsh, 
or,  as  he  was  more  generally  called,  "God-for-dam." 

When  we  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  taken  our  station  for 
the  night,  I  saw  another  snow  storm  wras  coming.  The  zig-zag 
lightnings  began  to  flare  and  flash,  and  sheet  after  sheet  of  wild 
flames  seemed  to  burst  right  over  our  heads  and  were  hissing 
around  us.  The  very  elements  seemed  to  be  one  aurora  borealis 
with  continued  lightning.  Streak  after  streak  of  lightning 
seemed  to  be  piercing  each  the  other,  the  one  from  the  north  and 
the  other  from  the  south.  The  white  clouds  would  roll  up, 
looking  like  huge  snow  balls,  encircled  with  living  fires.  The 
earth  and  hills  and  trees  were  covered  with  snow,  and  the  light 
nings  seemed  to  be  playing  "King,  King  Canico"  along  its  crust 
ed  surface.  If  it  thundered  at  all,  it  seemed  to  be  between  a 
groaning  and  a  rumbling  sound.  The  trees  and  hills  seemed 
white  with  livid  fire.  I  can  remember  that  storm  now  as  the 
grandest  picture  that  has  ever  made  any  impression  on  my 
memory.  As  soon  as  it  quit  lightning,  the  most  blinding  snow 
storm  fell  that  I  ever  saw.  It  fell  so  thick  and  fast  that  I  got 
hot.  I  felt  like  pulling  off  my  coat.  I  was  freezing.  The 
winds  sounded  like  sweet  music.  I  felt  grand,  glorious,  pecul 
iar;  beautiful  things  began  to  play  and  dance  around  my  head, 
and  I  supposed  I  must  have  dropped  to  sleep  or  something,  when 
I  felt  Schwartz  grab  me,  and  give  me  a  shake,  and  at  the  same 
time  raised  his  gun  and  fired,  and  yelled  out  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  "Here  is  your  mule."  The  next  instant  a  volley  of  min- 
nie  balls  was  scattering  the  snow  all  around  us.  I  tried  to  walk, 
but  my  pants  and  boots  were  stiff  and  frozen,  and  the  blood  had 
ceased  to  circulate  in  my  lower  limbs.  But  Schwartz  kept  on 
firing,  and  at  every  fire  he  would  yell  out,  "Yer  is  yer  mool !" 
Pfifer  could  not  speak  English,  and  I  reckon  he  said  "Here  is 
your  mule"  in  Dutch.  About  the  same  time  we  were  hailed 
from  three  Confederate  officers,  at  full  gallop  right  toward  us, 
not  to  shoot.  And  as  they  galloped  up  to  us  and  thundered  right 
across  the  bridge,  we  discovered  it  was  Stonewall  Jackson  and 


RETROSPECTIVE.  25 

two  of  his  staff.     At  the  same  time  the  Yankee  cavalry  charged 
us,  and  we,  too,  ran  back  across  the  bridge. 

STANDING  PICKET  ON   THE   POTOMAC. 

Leaving  Winchester,  we  continued  up  the  valley. 

The  night  before  the  attack  011  Bath  or  Berkly  Springs, 
there  fell  the  largest  snow  I  ever  saw. 

Stonewall  Jackson  had  seventeen  thousand  soldiers  at  his 
command.  The  Yankees  were  fortified  at  Bath.  An  attack 
was  ordered,  our  regiment  marched  upon  top  of  a  mountain 
overlooking  the  movements  of  both  armies  in  the  valley  below. 
About  4  o'clock  one  grand  charge  and  rush  was  made,  and  the 
Yankees  were  routed  and  skedaddled. 

By  some  circumstance  or  other,  Lieutenant  J.  Lee  Bullock 
came  in  command  of  the  First  Tennessee  Regiment.  But  J^ee 
was  not  a  graduate  of  West  Point,  you  see. 

The  Federals  had  left  some  spiked  batteries  on  the  hill  side, 
as  we  were  informed  by  an  old  citizen,  and  Lee,  anxious  to  cap 
ture  a  battery,  gave  the  new  and  peculiar  command  of,  "Soldiers, 
you  are  ordered  to  go  forward  and  capture  a  battery ;  just  piroute 
up  that  hill ;  piroute,  march.  Forward,  men ;  piroute  care 
fully."  The  boys  "pirouted"  as  best  they  could.  It  may  have 
been  a  new  command,  and  not  laid  down  in  Hardee's  or  Scott's 
tactics ;  but  Lee  was  speaking  plain  English,  and  we  understood 
his  meaning  perfectly,  and  even  at  this  late  day  I  have  no  doubt 
that  every  soldier  who  heard  the  command  thought  it  a  legal  and 
technical  term  used  by  military  graduates  to  go  forward  and 
capture  a  battery. 

At  this  place  (Bath),  a  beautiful  young  lady  ran  across  the 
street.  I  have  seen  many  beautiful  and  pretty  women  in  my 
life,  but  she  was  the  prettiest  one  I  ever  saw.  Were  you  to  ask 
any  member  of  the  First  Tennessee  Regiment  who  was  the  pret 
tiest  woman  he  ever  saw,  he  would  unhesitatingly  answer  that 
he  saw  her  at  Berkly  Springs  during  the  war,  and  he  would 
continue  the  tale,  and  tell  you  of  Lee  Bullock's  piroute  and 
Stonewall  Jackson's  charge. 

We  rushed  down  to  the  big  spring  bursting  out  of  the  moun 
tain  side,  and  it  was  hot  enough  to  cook  an  egg.  Never  did  I 


26  CO.  II.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

see  soldiers  more  surprised.     The  water  was  so  hot  we  could  not 
drink  it. 

The  snow  covered  the  ground  and  was  still  falling. 

That  night  I  stood  picket  on  the  Potomac  with  a  detail  of 
the  Third  Arkansas  Regiment,  I  remember  how  sorry  I  felt 
for  the  poor  fellows,  because  they  had  enlisted  for  the  war,  and 
Ave  for  only  twelve  months.  Before  nightfall  I  took  in  every 
object  and  commenced  my  weary  vigils.  I  had  to  stand  all 
night.  I  could  hear  the  rumblings  of  the  Federal  artillery  and 
wagons,  and  hear  the  low  shuffling  sound  made  by  troops  on  the 
march.  The  snow  came  pelting  down  as  large  as  goose  eggs. 
About  midnight  the  snow  ceased  to  fall,  and  became  quiet,  Now 
and  then  the  snow  would  fall  off  the  bushes  and  make  a  terrible 
noise.  While  I  was  peering  through  the  darkness,  my  eyes 
suddenly  fell  upon  the  outlines  of  a  man.  The  more  I  looked 
the  more  I  was  convinced  that  it  was  a  Yankee  picket.  I  could 
see  his  hat  and  coat — yes,  see  his  gun.  I  was  sure  that  it  was  a 
Yankee  picket.  What  was  I  to  do?  The  relief  wa3  several 
hundred  yards  in  the  rear.  The  more  I  looked  the  more  sure  I 
was.  At  last  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  all  over  my  body.  Turkey 
bumps  rose.  I  summoned  all  the  nerves  and  bravery  that  I 
could  command;  and  said :  "Halt !  who  goes  there  ?"  There 
being  no  response,  I  became  resolute.  I  did  not  wish  to  fire  and 
arouse  the  camp,  but  I  marched  right  up  to  it  and  stuck  my 
bayonet  through  and  through  it.  It  was  a  stump.  I  tell  the 
above,  because  it  illustrates  a  part  of  many  a  private's  recollec 
tions  of  the  war ;  in  fact,  a  part  of  the  hardships  and  suffering 
that  they  go  through. 

One  secret  of  Stonewall  Jackson's  success  was  that  he  was 
such  a  strict  disciplinarian.  He  did  his  duty  himself  and  was 
ever  at  his  post,  and  he  expected  and  demanded  of  everybody  to 
do  the  same  thing.  He  would  have  a  man  shot  at  the  drop  of  a 
hat,  and  drop  it  himself.  The  first  army  order  that  was  ever 
read  to  us  after  being  attached  to  his  corps,  was  the  shooting  to 
death  by  musketry  of  two  men  who  had  stopped  on  the  battlefield 
to  carry  off  a  wounded  comrade.  It  was  read  to  us  in  line  of 
battle  at  Winchester. 


RETROSPECTIVE.  27 

SCHWARTZ  AND  PFIFER. 

At  Valley  Mountain  the  finest  and  fattest  beef  I  ever  saw  was 
issued  to  the  soldiers,  and  it  was  the  custom  to  use  tallow  for 
lard.  Tallow  made  good  shortening  if  the  biscuits  were  eaten 
hot,  but  if  allowed  to  get  cold  they  had  a  strong  taste  of  tallow 
in  their  flavor  that  did  not  taste  like  the  flavor  of  vanilla  or 
lemon  in  ice  cream  and  strawberries ;  and  biscuits  fried  in  tal 
low  were  something  upon  the  principle  of  'possum  and  sweet 
potatoes.  Well,  Pfifer  had  got  the  fat  from  the  kidneys  of  two 
hind-quarters  and  made  a  cake  of  tallow  weighing  about  twenty- 
five  pounds.  He  wrapped  it  up  and  put  it  carefully  away  in 
his  knapsack.  When  the  assembly  sounded  for  the  march, 
Pfifer  strapped  on  his  knapsack.  It  was  pretty  heavy,  but 
Pfifer  was  "well  heeled."  He  knew  the  good  frying  he  would 
get  out  of  that  twenty-five  pounds  of  nice  fat  tallow,  and  he  was 
willing  to  tug  and  toil  all  day  over  a  muddy  and  sloppy  road  for 
his  anticipated  hot  tallow  gravy  for  supper.  We  made  a  long 
and  hard  march  that  day,  and  about  dark  went  into  camp. 
Fires  were  made  up  and  water  brought,  and  the  soldiers  began 
to  get  supper.  Pfifer  was  in  a  good  humor.  He  went  to  get 
that  twenty-five  pounds  of  good,  nice,  fat  tallow  out  of  his  knap 
sack,  and  on  opening  it,  lo  and  behold!  it  was  a  rock  that 
weighed  about  thirty  pounds.  Pfifer  was  struck  dumb  with 
amazement.  He  looked  bewildered,  yea,  even  silly.  I  do  not 
think  he  cursed,  because  he  could  not  do  the  subject  justice.  He 
looked  at  that  rock  with  the  death  stare  of  a  doomed  man.  But 
he  suspected  Schwartz.  He  went  to  Schwartz's  knapsack,  and 
there  he  found  his  cake  of  tallow.  He  went  to  Schwartz  and 
would  have  killed  him  had  not  soldiers  interfered  and  pulled 
him  off  by  main  force.  His  eyes  blazed  and  looked  like  those 
of  a  tiger  when  he  has  just  torn  his  victim  limb  from  limb.  I 
would  not  have  been  in  Schwartz's  shoes  for  all  the  tallow  in 
every  beef  in  Virginia.  Captain  Harsh  made  Schwartz  carry 
that  rock  for  two  days  to  pacify  Pfifer. 

THE  COURT-MARTIAL. 

One  incident  came  under  my  observation  while  in  Virginia 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

that  made  a  deep  impression  on  my  mind.  One  morning,  about 
daybreak,  the  new  guard  was  relieving  the  old  guard.  It  was  a 
bitter  cold  morning,  and  on  coming  to  our  extreme  outpost,  I  saw 
a  soldier — he  was  but  a  mere  boy — either  dead  or  asleep  at  his 
post.  The  sergeant  commanding  the  relief  went  up  to  him  and 
shook  him.  He  immediately  woke  up  and  seemed  very  much 
frightened.  He  was  fast  asleep  at  his  post.  The  sergeant  had 
him  arrested  and  carried  to  the  guard-house. 

Two  days  afterwards  I  received  notice  to  appear  before  a 
court-martial  at  nine.  I  was  summoned  to  appear  as  a  witness 
against  him  for  being  asleep  at  his  post  in  the  enemy's  country. 
An  example  had  to  be  made  of  some  one.  He  had  to  be  tried  for 
his  life.  The  court-martial  was  made  up  of  seven  or  eight  offi 
cers  of  a  different  regiment.  The  witnesses  all  testified  against 
him,  charges  and  specifications  were  read,  and  by  the  rules  of 
war  he  had  to  be  shot  to  death  by  musketry.  The  Advocate- 
General  for  the  prosecution  made  the  opening  speech.  He  read 
the  law  in  a  plain,  straightforward  manner,  and  said  that  for  a 
soldier  to  go  to  sleep  at  his  post  of  duty,  while  so  much  depended 
upon  him,,  was  the  most  culpable  of  all  crimes,  and  the  most 
inexcusable.  I  trembled  in  my  boots,  for  on  several  occasions 
I  knew  I  had  taken  a  short  nap,  even  on  the  very  outpost.  The 
Advocate-General  went  on  further  to  say,  that  the  picket  was  the 
sentinel  that  held  the  lives  of  his  countrymen  and  the  liberty  of 
his  country  in  his  hands,  and  it  mattered  not  what  may  have 
been  his  record  in  the  past.  At  one  moment  he  had  forfeited 
his  life  to  his  country.  For  discipline's  sake,  if  for  nothing 
else,  you  gentlemen  that  make  up  this  court-martial  find  the 
prisoner  guilty.  It  is  necessary  for  you  to  be  firm,  gentlemen, 
for  upon  your  decision  depends  the  safety  of  our  country.  When 
he  had  finished,  thinks  I  to  myself,  "Gone  up  the  spout,  sure; 
we  will  have  a  first-class  funeral  here  before  night." 

Well,  as  to  the  lawyer  who  defended  him,  I  cannot  now 
remember  his  speeches;  but  he  represented  a  fair-haired  boy 
leaving  his  home  and  family,  telling  his  father  and  aged  mother 
and  darling  little  sister  farewell,  and  spoke  of  his  proud  step, 
though  a  mere  boy,  going  to  defend  his  country  and  his  loved 


RETROSPECTIVE.  29 

ones;  but  at  one  weak  moment,  when  nature,  tasked  and  taxed 
beyond  the  bounds  of  human  endurance,  could  stand  no  longer , 
and  upon  the  still  and  silent  picket  post,  when  the  whole  army 
was  hushed  in  slumber,  what  wonder  is  it  that  he,  too,  may  have 
fallen  asleep  while  at  his  post  of  duty. 

Some  of  you  gentlemen  of  this  court-martial  may  have  sons,, 
may  have  brothers ;  yes,  even  fathers,  in  the  army.  Where  are 
they  to-night?  You  love  your  children,  or  your  brother  or 
father.  This  mere  youth  has  a  father  and  mother  and  sister 
aAvay  back  in  Tennessee.  They  are  willing  to  give  him  to  his- 
country.  But  oh !  gentlemen,  let  the  word  go  back  to  Tennessee 
that  he  died  upon  the  battlefield,  and  not  by  the  hands  of  his  own 
comrades  for  being  asleep  at  his  post  of  duty.  I  cannot  now 
remember  the  speeches,  but  one  thing  I  do  know,  that  he  was 
acquitted,  and  I  was  glad  of  it. 

''THE  DEATH  WATCH/' 

One  more  scene  I  can  remember.  Kind  friends — you  that 
know  nothing  of  a  soldier's  life — I  ask  you  in  all  candor  not  to 
doubt  the  following  lines  in  this  sketch.  You  have  no  doubt 
read  of  the  old  Roman  soldier  found  amid  the  ruins  of  Pompeii, 
who  had  stood  there  for  sixteen  hundred  years,  and  when  he  was 
excavated  was  found  at  his  post  with  his  gun  clasped  in  his  skele 
ton  hands.  You  believe  this  because  it  is  written  in  history.  I 
have  heard  politicians  tell  it.  I  have  heard  it  told  from  the 
sacred  desk.  It  is  true;  no  one  doubts  it. 

!N"ow,  were  I  to  tell  something  that  happened  in  this  nine 
teenth  century  exactly  similar,  you  wrould  hardly  believe  it. 
But  whether  you  believe  it  or  not,  it  is  for  you  to  say.  At  a  little 
village  called  Hampshire  Crossing,  our  regiment  was  ordered  to 
go  to  a  little  stream  called  St.  John's  Eun;  to  relieve  the  14th 
Georgia  Regiment  and  the  3rd  Arkansas.  I  cannot  tell  the 
facts  as  I  desire  to.  In  fact,  my  hand  trembles  so,  and  my  feel 
ings  are  so  overcome,  that  it  is  hard  for  me  to  write  at  all.  But 
we  went  to  the  place  that  we  were  ordered  to  go  to,  and  when  we 
arrived  there  we  found  the  guard  sure  enough.  If  I  remember 
correctly,  there  were  just  eleven  of  them.  Some  were  sitting 
down  and  some  were  lying  down ;  but  each  and  every  one  was  a? 


30  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

cold  and  as  hard  frozen  as  the  icicles  that  hung  from  their  hands 
and  faces  and  clothing — dead !  They  had  died  at  their  post  of 
duty.  Two  of  them,  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others,  were 
standing  with  their  guns  in  their  hands,  as  cold  and  as  hard 
frozen  as  a  monument  of  marble — standing  sentinel  with  loaded 
guns  in  their  froze n  hands !  The  tale  is  told.  Were  they  true 
men  ?  Does  He  who  noteth  the  sparrow's  fall,  and  numbers  the 
hairs  of  our  heads,  have  any  interest  in  one  like  ourselves  ? 
Yes;  He  doeth  all  things  well.  Not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the 
ground  without  His  consent. 

VIRGINIA,  FAREWELL. 

After  having  served  through  all  the  valley  campaign,  and 
marched  through  all  the  wonders  of  Northwest  Virginia,  and 
being  associated  with  the  army  of  Virginia,  it  was  with  sorrow 
and  regret  that  we  bade  farewell  to  "Old  Virginia's  shore,"  to 
go  to  other  fields  of  blood  and  carnage  and  death.  We  had 
learned  to  love  Virginia;  we  love  her  now.  The  people  were 
kind  and  good  to  us.  They  divided  their  last  crust  of  bread  and 
rasher  of  bacon  with  us.  We  loved  Lee,  we  loved  Jackson ;  we 
loved  the  name,  association  and  people  of  Virginia.  Hatton, 
Forbes,  Anderson,  Gilliam,  Govan,  Loring,  Ashby  and  Schu- 
maker  were  names  with  which  we  had  been  long  associated.  We 
hated  to  leave  all  our  old  comrades  behind  us.  We  felt  that  we 
were  proving  recreant  to  the  instincts  of  our  own  manhood,  and 
that  we  were  leaving  those  who  had  stood  by  us  on  the  march 
and  battlefield  when  they  most  needed  our  help.  We  knew  the 
7th  and  14th  Tennessee  regiments ;  we  knew  the  3rd  Arkansas, 
the  14th  Georgia,  and  42nd  Virginia  regiments.  Their  names 
were  as  familiar  as  household  words.  We  were  about  to  leave 
the  bones  of  Joe  Bynum  and  Gus  Allen  and  Patrick  Hanly. 
We  were  about  to  bid  farewell  to  every  tender  association  that 
we  had  formed  with  the  good  people  of  Virginia,  and  to  our  old 
associates  among  the  soldiers  of  the  Grand  Army  of  Virginia. 
Virginia,  farewell!  Away  back  yonder,  in  good  old  Tennessee, 
our  homes  and  loved  ones  are  being  robbed  and  insulted,  our 
fields  laid  waste,  our  cities  sacked,  and  our  people  slain.  Duty 
as  well  as  patriotism  calls  us  back  to  our  native  home,  to  try  and 


SHILOH.  81 

defend  it,  as  best  we  can,  against  an  invading  army  of  our  then 
enemies ;  and,  Virginia,  once  more  we  bid  you  a  long  farewell ! 


CHAPTER  II.— SHILOH. 

SHILOH. 

This  was  the  first  big  battle  in  which  our  regiment  had  ever 
been  engaged.  I  do  not  pretend  to  tell  of  what  command  dis 
tinguished  itself;  of  heroes;  of  blood  and  wounds;  of  shrieks 
and  groans;  of  brilliant  charges;  of  cannon  captured,  etc.  I 
was  but  a  private  soldier,  and  if  I  happened  to  look  to  see  if  I 
could  find  out  anything,  "Eyes  right,  guide  center,"  was  the 
order.  "Close  up,  guide  right,  halt,  forward,  right  oblique,  left 
oblique,  halt,  forward,  guide  center,  eyes  right,  dress  up  prompt 
ly  in  the  rear,  steady,  double  quick,  charge  bayonets,  fire  at 
will,"  is  about  all  that  a  private  soldier  ever  knows  of  a  battle. 
He  can  see  the  smoke  rise  and  the  flash  of  the  enemy's  guns,  and 
he  can  hear  the  whistle  of  the  minnie  and  cannon  balls,  but  he 
has  got  to  load  and  shoot  as  hard  as  he  can  tear  and  ram  car 
tridge,  or  he  will  soon  find  out,  like  the  Irishman  who  had  been 
shooting  blank  cartridges,  when  a  ball  happened  to  strike  him, 
and  he  halloed  out,  "Faith,  Pat,  and  be  jabbers,  them  fellows  are 
shooting  bullets."  But  I  nevertheless  remember  many  things 
that  came  under  my  observation  in  this  battle.  I  remember  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Smith  stepping  deliberately  out  of  the 
ranks  and  shooting  his  finger  off  to  keep  out  of  the  fight;  of 
another  poor  fellow  who  was  accidentally  shot  and  killed  by  the 
discharge  of  another  person's  gun,  and  of  others  suddenly  taken 
sick  with  colic.  Our  regiment  was  the  advance  guard  on  Sat- 


32  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

urday  evening,  and  did  a  little  skirmishing;  but  General  Glad- 
den's  brigade  passed  us  and  assumed  a  position  in  our  immediate 
front.  About  daylight  on  Sunday  morning,  Chalmers'  brigade 
relieved  Gladden's.  As  Gladden  rode  by  us,  a  courier  rode  up 
and  told  him  something.  I  do  not  know  what  it  was,  but  I 
heard  Gladden  say,  "Tell  General  Bragg  that  I  have  as  keen  a 
scent  for  Yankees  as  General  Chalmers  has." 

On  Sunday  morning,  a  clear,  beautiful,  and  still  day,  the 
order  was  given  for  the  whole  army  to  advance,  and  to  attack 
immediately.  We  were  supporting  an  Alabama  brigade.  The 
fire  opened — bang,  bang,  bang,  a  rattle  de  bang,  bang,  bang,  a 
boom,  de  bang,  bang,  bang,  boom,  bang,  boom,  bang,  boom,  bang, 
boom,  bang,  boom,  whirr-siz-siz-siz — a  ripping,  roaring  boom, 
bang!  The  air  was  full  of  balls  and  deadly  missiles.  The 
litter  corps  was  carrying  off  the  dying  and  wounded.  We  could 
hear  the  shout  of  the  charge  and  the  incessant  roar  of  the  guns, 
the  rattle  of  the  musketry,  and  knew  that  the  contending  forces 
were  engaged  in  a  breast  to  breast  struggle.  But  cheering  news 
continued  to  come  back.  Every  one  who  passed  would  be 
hailed  with,  "Well,  what  news  from  the  front  ?"  "Well,  boys, 
we  are  driving  'em.  We  have  captured  all  their  encampments, 
everything  that  they  had,  and  all  their  provisions  and  army 
stores,  and  everything." 

As  we  were  advancing  to  the  attack  and  to  support  the 
Alabama  brigade  in  our  front,  and  which  had  given  way  and 
were  stricken  with  fear,  some  of  the  boys  of  our  regiment  would 
laugh  at  them,  and  ask  what  they  were  running  for,  and  would 
commence  to  say  "Flicker !  flicker !  flicker !"  like  the  bird  called 
the  yellowhammer,  "Flicker !  flicker  !  flicker  !"  As  we  advanced, 
on  the  edge  of  the  battlefield,  we  saw  a  big  fat  colonel  of  the 
23rd  Tennessee  regiment  badly  wounded,  whose  name,  if  I  re 
member  correctly,  was  Matt.  Martin.  He  said  to  us,  "Give  'em 
goss,  boys.  That's  right,  my  brave  First  Tennessee.  Give  'em 
Hail  Columbia!"  We  halted  but  a  moment,  and  said  I, 
"Colonel,  where  are  you  wounded?"  He  answered  in  a  deep 
bass  voice,  "My  son,  I  am  wounded  in  the  arm,  in  the  leg,  in  the 
head,  in  the  body,  and  in  another  place  which  I  have  a  delicacy 


SHILOH.  '   33 

in  mentioning."  That  is  what  the  gallant  old  Colonel  said. 
Advancing  a  little  further  on,  w©  saw  General  Albert  Sidney 
Johnson  surrounded  by  his  staff  and  Governor  Harris,  of  Ten 
nessee.  We  saw  some  little  commotion  among  those  who  sur 
rounded  him,  but  we  did  not  know  at  the  time  that  he  was 
dead.  The  fact  was  kept  from  the  troops. 

About  noon  a  courier  dashed  up  and  ordered  us  to  go  for 
ward  and  support  General  Bragg' s  center.  We  had  to  pass  over 
the  ground  where  troops  had  been  fighting  all  day. 

I  had  heard  and  read  of  battlefields,  seen  pictures  of  battle 
fields,  of  horses  and  men,  of  cannon  and  wagons,  all  jumbled 
together,  while  the  ground  was  strewn  with  dead  and  dying  and 
wounded,  but  I  must  confess  that  I  never  realized  the  "pomp  and 
circumstance"  of  the  thing  called  glorious  war  until  I  saw  this. 
Men  were  lying  in  every  conceivable  position;  the  dead  lying 
with  their  eyes  wide  open,  the  wounded  begging  piteously  for 
help,  and  some  waving  their  hats  and  shouting  to  us  to  go  for 
ward.  It  all  seemed  to  me  a  dream ;  I  seemed  to  be  in  a  sort  of 
haze,  when  siz,  siz,  siz,  the  minnie  balls  from  the  Yankee  line 
began  to  whistle  around  our  ears,  and  I  thought  of  the  Irishman 
when  he  said,  "Sure  enough,  those  fellows  are  shooting  bullets !" 

Down  would  drop  first  one  fellow  and  then  another,  either 
killed  or  wounded,  when  we  were  ordered  to  charge  bayonets. 
I  had  been  feeling  mean  all  the  morning  as  if  I  had  stolen  a 
sheep,  but  when  the  order  to  charge  was  given,  I  got  happy.  I 
felt  happier  than  a  fellow  does  when  he  professes  religion  at  a 
big  Methodist  camp-meeting.  I  shouted.  It  was  fun  then. 
Everybody  looked  happy.  We  were  crowding  them.  One  more 
charge,  then  their  lines  waver  and  break.  They  retreat  in  wild 
confusion.  We  were  jubilant;  we  were  triumphant.  Officers 
could  not  curb  the  men  to  keep  in  line.  Discharge  after  dis 
charge  was  poured  into  the  retreating  line.  The  Federal  dead 
and  wounded  covered  the  ground. 

When  in  the  very  midst  of  our  victory,  here  comes  an  order 
to  halt.  What !  halt  after  to-day's  victory  \  Sidney  Johnson 
killed,  General  Gladden  killed,  and  a  host  of  generals  and  other 
brave  men  killed,  and  the  whole  Yankee  army  in  full  retreat. 


34  CO.    H.,    FIKST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

These  four  letters,  h-a-l-t,  O,  how  harsh  they  did  break  upon 
our  ears.  The  victory  was  complete,  but  the  word  "halt"  turned 
victory  into  defeat. 

The  soldiers  had  passed  through  the  Yankee  camps  and 
saw  all  the  good  things  that  they  had  to  eat  in  their  sutlers' 
stores  and  officers7  marquees,  and  it  was  but  a  short  time  before 
every  soldier  was  rummaging  to  see  what  he  could  find. 

The  harvest  was  great  and  the  laborers  were  not  few. 

The  negro  boys,  who  were  with  their  young  masters  as 
servants,  got  rich.  Greenbacks  were  plentiful,  good  clothes 
were  plentiful,  rations  were  not  in  demand.  The  boys  were  in 
clover. 

This  was  Sunday. 

On  Monday  the  tide  was  reversed. 

2sTow,  those  Yankees  were  whipped,  fairly  whipped,  and 
according  to  all  the  rules  of  war  they  ought  to  have  retreated. 
But  they  didn't.  Flushed  with  their  victories  at  Fort  Henry 
and  Fort  Donelson  and  the  capture  of  Nashville,  and  the  whole 
State  of  Tennessee  having  fallen  into  their  hands,  victory  was 
again  to  perch  upon  their  banners,  for  Buell's  army,  by  forced 
inarches,  had  come  to  Grant's  assistance  at  the  eleventh  hour. 

Gunboats  and  transports  were  busily  crossing  Buell's  army 
all  of  Sunday  night.  We  could  hear  their  boats  ringing  their 
bells,  and  hear  the  puff  of  smoke  and  steam  from  their  boilers. 
Our  regiment  was  the  advance  outpost,  and  we  saw  the  skirmish 
line  of  the  Federals  advancing  and  then  their  main  line  and 
then  their  artillery.  We  made  a  good  fight  on  Monday  morning, 
and  I  was  taken  by  surprise  when  the  order  came  for  us  to 
retreat  instead  of  advance.  But  as  I  said  before,  reader,  a 
private  soldier  is  but  an  automaton,  and  knows  nothing  of  what 
is  going  on  among  the  generals,  and  I  am  only  giving  the  chron 
icles  of  little  things  and  events  that  came  under  my  own  observa 
tion  as  I  saw  them  then  and  remember  them  now.  Should  you 
desire  to  find  out  more  about  the  battle,  I  refer  you  to  history. 

One  incident  I  recollect  very  well.  A  Yankee  colonel, 
riding  a  fine  gray  mare,  was  sitting  on  his  horse  looking  at  our 
advance  as  if  we  were  on  review.  W.  H.  rushed  forward  and 


SHILOH.  35 

grabbed  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  to 
surrender.  The  Yankee  seized  the  reins,  set  himself  back  in 
the  saddle,  put  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  in  W.  H.'s  face  and  fired. 
About  the  time  he  pulled  trigger,  a  stray  ball  from  some  direc 
tion  struck  him  in  the  side  and  he  fell  off  dead,  and  his  horse 
becoming  frightened,  galloped  off,  dragging  him  through  the 
Confederate  lines.  His  pistol  had  missed  its  aim. 

I  have  heard  hundreds  of  old  soldiers  tell  of  the  amount  of 
greenback  money  they  saw  and  picked  up  on  the  battlefield  of 
Shiloh,  but  they  thought  it  valueless  and  did  not  trouble  them 
selves  with  bringing  it  off  with  them. 

One  fellow,  a  courier,  who  had  had  his  horse  killed,  got  on 
a  mule  he  had  captured,  and  in  the  last  charge,  before  the  final 
and  fatal  halt  was  made,  just  charged  right  ahead  by  his  lone 
self,  and  the  soldiers  said,  "Just  look  at  that  brave  man,  charg 
ing  right  in  the  jaws  of  death."  He  began  to  seesaw  the  mule 
and  grit  his  teeth,  and  finally  yelled  out,  "It  arn't  me,  boys,  it's 
this  blarsted  old  mule.  Whoa  !  Whoa  !" 

On  Monday  morning  I  too  captured  me  a  mule.  He  was 
not  a  fast  mule,  and  I  soon  found  out  that  he  thought  he  knew 
as  much  as  I  did.  He  was  wise  in  his  own  conceit.  He  had  a 
propensity  to  take  every  hog  path  he  came  to.  All  the  bom- 
basting  that  I  could  give  him  would  not  make  him  accelerate  his 
speed.  If  blood  makes  speed,  I  do  not  suppose  he  had  a  drop  of 
any  kind  in  him.  If  I  wanted  him  to  go  on  one  side  of  the  road 
he  was  sure  to  be  possessed  of  an  equal  desire  to  go  on  the  other 
side.  Finally  I  and  my  mule  fell  out.  I  got  a  big  hickory 
and  would  frail  him  over  the  head,  and  he  would  only  shake  his 
head  and  flop  his  ears,  and  seem  to  say,  "Well,  now,  you  think 
you  are  smart,  don't  you?"  He  was  a  resolute  mule,  slow  to 
anger,  and  would  have  made  an  excellent  merchant  to  refuse  bad 
pay,  or  I  will  pay  your  credit,  for  his  whole  composition  seemed 
to  be  made  up  the  one  word — no.  I  frequently  thought  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  split  the  difference  with  that  mule,  and  I  would 
gladly  have  done  so  if  I  could  have  gotten  one-half  of  his  no. 
Me  and  mule  worried  along  until  we  came  to  a  creek.  Mule 
did  not  desire  to  cross,  while  I  was  trying  to  persuade  him  with 


36  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

a  big  stick,  a  rock  in  his  ear,  and  a  twister  on  his  nose.  The 
caisson  of  a  battery  was  about  to  cross.  The  driver  said,  "I'll 
take  your  mule  over  for  you."  So  he  got  a  large  two-inch  rope 
tied  one  end  around  the  mule's  neck  and  the  other  to  the  caisson, 
and  ordered  the  driver  to  whip  up.  The  mule  was  loth  to  take  to 
the  water.  He  was  no  Baptist,  and  did  not  believe  in  immer 
sion,  and  had  his  views  about  crossing  streams,  but  the  rope 
began  to  tighten,  the  mule  to  squeal  out  his  protestations  against 
such  villainous  proceedings.  The  rope,  however,  was  stronger 
than  the  mule's  "no,"  and  he  was  finally  prevailed  upon  by  the 
strength  of  the  rope  to  cross  the  creek.  On  my  taking  the  rope 
off  he  shook  himself  and  seemed  to  say,  "You  think  that  you  are 
mighty  smart  folks,  but  you  are  a  leetle  too  smart."  I  gave  it 
up  that  that  mule's  "no"  was  a  little  stronger  than  my  deter 
mination.  He  seemed  to  be  in  deep  meditation.  I  got  on  him 
again,  when  all  of  a  sudden  he  lifted  his  head,  pricked  up  his 
ears,  began  to  champ  his  bit,  gave  a  little  squeal,  got  a  little 
faster,  and  finally  into  a  gallop  and  then  a  run.  He  seemed  all 
at  once  to  have  remembered  or  to  have  forgotten  something,  and 
was  now  making  up  for  lost  time.  With  all  my  pulling  and  see 
sawing  and  strength  I  could  not  stop  him  until  he  brought  up 
with  me  at  Corinth,  Mississippi. 


CHAPTEE  III.— CORINTH. 

CORINTH. 

Well,  here  we  were,  again  "reorganizing,"  and  after  our  lax 
discipline  on  the  road  to  and  from  Virginia,  and  after  a  big  bat 
tle,  which  always  disorganizes  an  army,  what  wonder  is  it  that 
some  men  had  to  be  shot,  merely  for  discipline's  sake?  And 


CORINTH.  37 

what  wonder  that  General  Bragg's  name  became  a  terror  to  de 
serters  and  evil  doers  ?  Men  were  shot  by  scores,  and  no  wonder 
the  army  had  to  be  reorganized.  Soldiers  had  enlisted  for 
twelve  months  only,  and  had  faithfully  complied  with  their  vol 
unteer  obligations;  the  terms  for  which  they  had  enlisted  had 
expired,  and  they  naturally  looked  upon  it  that  they  had  a  right 
to  go  home.  They  had  done  their  duty  faithfully  and  well. 
They  wanted  to  see  their  families ;  in  fact,  wanted  to  go  home 
anyhow.  War  had  become  a  reality ;  they  were  tired  of  it.  A 
law  had  been  passed  by  the  Confederate  States  Congress  called 
the  conscript  act.  A  soldier  had  no  right  to  volunteer  and  to 
choose  the  branch  of  service  he  preferred.  He  was  conscripted. 

From  this  tims  on  till  the  end  of  the  war,  a  soldier  was 
simply  a  machine,  a  conscript.  It  was  mighty  rough  on  rebels. 
We  cursed  the  war,  we  cursed  Bragg,  we  cursed  the  Southern 
Confederacy.  All  our  pride  and  valor  had  gone,  and  we  were 
sick  of  war  and  the  Southern  Confederacy. 

A  law  was  made  by  the  Confederate  States  Congress  about 
this  time  allowing  every  person  who  owned  twenty  negroes  to 
go  home.  It  gave  us  the  blues;  we  wanted  twenty  negroes. 
^N~egro  property  suddenly  became  very  valuable,  and  there  was 
raised  the  howl  of  "rich  man's  war,  poor  man's  fight."  The 
glory  of  the  war,  the  glory  of  the  South,  the  glory  and  the  pride 
of  our  volunteers  had  no  charms  for  the  conscript. 

We  were  directed  to  re-elect  our  officeri,  and  the  country  was 
surprised  to  see  the  sample  of  a  conscript's  choice.  The  conscript 
had  no  choice.  He  was  callous,  and  indifferent  whether  he  had 
a  captain  or  not.  Those  who  were  at  first  officers  had  resigned 
and  gone  home,  because  they  were  officers.  The  poor  private, 
a  contemptible  conscript,  was  left  to  howl  and  gnash  his  teeth. 
The  war  might  as  well  have  ended  then  and  there.  The  boys 
were  "hacked,"  nay,  whipped.  They  were  shorn  of  the  locks  of 
their  glory.  They  had  but  one  ambition  now,  and  that  was  to 
get  out  of  the  army  in  some  way  or  other.  They  wanted  to  join 
the  cavalry  or  artillery  or  home  guards  or  pioneer  corps  or  to  be 
"yaller  dogs,"  or  anything. 

[The  average  staff  officer  and  courier  were  always  called 


38  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE   REGIMENT. 

"yaller  dogs,"  and  were  regarded  as  non-combatants  and  a  nui 
sance,  and  the  average  private  never  let  one  pass  without  whist 
ling  and  calling  dogs.  In  fact,  the  general  had  to  issue  an  army 
order  threatening  punishment  for  the  ridicule  hurled  at  staff 
officers  and  couriers.  They  were  looked  upon  as  simply  Chang 
ers  on,"  or  in  other  words,  as  yellow  sheep-killing  dogs,  that  if 
you  would  say  "booh"  at,  would  yelp  and  get  under  their  master's 
heels.  Mike  Snyder  was  General  George  Maney's  "yaller  dog," 
and  I  believe  here  is  where  Joe  Jefferson,  in  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
got  the  name  of  Rip's  dog  Snyder.  At  all  times  of  day  or  night 
you  could  hear,  "Wheer,  hyat,  hyat,  haer,  haer,  hugh,  Snyder. 
whoopee,  hyat,  whoopee,  Snyder,  here,  here,"  when  a  staff  officer 
or  courier  happened  to  pass.  The  reason  of  this  was  that  the 
private  knew  and  felt  that  there  was  just  that  much  more  load 
ing,  shooting  and  fighting  for  him ;  and  there  are  the  fewest  num 
ber  of  instances  on  record  where  a  staff  officer  or  courier  ever 
fired  a  gun  in  their  country's  cause;  and  even  at  this  late  day, 
when  I  hear  an  old  soldier  telling  of  being  on  some  general's 
staff,  I  always  think  of  the  letter  "E."  In  fact,  later  in  the 
war  I  was  detailed  as  special  courier  and  staff  officer  for  General 
Hood,  which  office  I  held  three  days.  But  while  I  held  the  office, 
in  passing  a  guard  I  always  told  them  I  was  on  Hood's  staff,  and 
ever  afterwards  I  made  those  three  days'  staff  business  last  me 
the  balance  of  the  war.  I  could  pass  any  guard  in  the  army  by 
using  the  magic  words,  "staff  officer."  It  beat  all  the  counter 
signs  ever  invented.  It  was  the  "open  sesame"  of  war  and 
discipline.] 

Their  last  hope  had  set.  They  hated  war.  To  their  minds 
the  South  was  a  great  tyrant,  and  the  Confederacy  a  fraud. 
They  were  deserting  by  thousands.  They  had  no  love  or  respect 
for  General  Bragg.  When  men  were  to  be  shot  or  whipped,  the 
whole  army  was  marched  to  the  horrid  scene  to  see  a  poor  trem 
bling  wretch  tied  to  a  post  and  a  platoon  of  twelve  men  drawn 
up  in  line  to  put  him  to  death,  and  the  hushed  command  of 
"Ready,  aim,  fire!"  would  make  the  soldier,  or  conscript,  I 
should  say,  loathe  the  very  name  of  Southern  Confederacy. 
And  when  some  miserable  wretch  was  to  be  whipped  and  branded 


CORINTH.  39 

for  being  absent  ten  days  without  leave,  we  had  to  see  him  kneel 
down  and  have  his  head  shaved  smooth  and  slick  as  a  peeled 
onion,  and  then  stripped  to  the  naked  skin.  Then  a  strapping 
fellow  with  a  big  rawhide  would  make  the  blood  flow  and  spurt 
at  every  lick,  the  wretch  begging  and  howling  like  a  hound,  and 
then  he  was  branded  with  a  red  hot  iron  with  the  letter  D  on 
both  hips,  when  he  was  marched  through  the  army  to  the  music 
of  the  "Rogue's  March."  It  was  enough.  None  of  General 
Bragg's  soldiers  ever  loved  him.  They  had  no  faith  in  his 
ability  as  a  general.  He  was  looked  upon  as  a  merciless  tyrant. 
The  soldiers  were  very  scantily  fed.  Bragg  never  was  a  good 
feeder  or  commissary-general.  Rations  with  us  were  always 
scarce.  No  extra  rations  were  ever  allowed  to  the  negroes  who 
were  with  us  as  servants.  No  coffee  or  whisky  or  tobacco  were 
ever  allowed  to  be  issued  to  the  troops.  If  they  obtained  these 
luxuries,  they  were  not  from  the  government.  These  luxuries 
were  withheld  in  order  to  crush  the  very  heart  and  spirit  of  his 
troops.  We  were  crushed.  Bragg  was  the  great  autocrat.  In 
the  mind  of  the  soldier,  his  word  was  law.  He  loved  to  crush  the 
spirit  of  his  men.  The  more  of  a  hang-dog  look  they  had  about 
them  the  better  was  General  Bragg  pleased.  Not  a  single  soldier 
in  the  whole  army  ever  loved  or  respected  him.  But  he  is  dead 
now. 

Peace  to  his  ashes ! 

We  became  starved  skeletons;  naked  and  ragged  rebels. 
The  chronic  diarrhoea  became  the  scourge  of  the  army.  Corinth 
became  one  vast  hospital.  Almost  the  whole  army  attended  the 
sick  call  every  morning.  All  the  water  courses  went  dry,  and 
we  used  water  out  of  filthy  pools. 

Halleck  was  advancing ;  we  had  to  fortify  Corinth.  A  vast 
army,  Grant,  Buell,  Halleck,  Sherman,  all  were  advancing  on 
Corinth.  Our  troops  were  in  no  condition  to  fight.  In  fact, 
they  had  seen  enough  of  this  miserable  yet  tragic  farce.  They 
were  ready  to  ring  down  the  curtain,  put  out  the  footlights  and 
go  home.  They  loved  the  Union  anyhow,  and  were  always  op 
posed  to  this  war.  But  breathe  softly  the  name  of  Bragg.  It 
had  more  terror  than  the  advancing  hosts  of  Halleck' s  army. 


40  CO.    II.,    FIRST    TE^]STESSEE    KEGI.MEXT. 

The  shot  and  shell  would  come  tearing  through  our  ranks. 
Every  now  and  then  a  soldier  was  killed  or  wounded,  and  we 
thought  what  "magnificent"  folly.  Death  was  welcome.  Hal- 
leek's  whole  army  of  blue  coats  had  no  terror  now.  When  we 
were  drawn  up  in  line  of  battle,  a  detail  of  one-tenth  of  the  army 
was  placed  in  our  rear  to  shoot  us  down  if  we  ran.  ISTo  pack  of 
hounds  under  the  master's  lash,  or  body  of  penitentiary  convicts 
were  ever  under  greater  surveillance.  We  were  tenfold  worse 
than  slaves ;  our  morale  was  a  thing  of  the  past ;  the  glory  of  war 
and  the  pride  of  manhood  had  been  sacrificed  upon  Bragg's 
tyrannical  holocaust.  But  enough  of  this. 

TCOWLAND  SHOT   TO  DEATH. 

One  morning  I  went  over  to  the  23rd  Tennessee  Regiment 
on  a  visit  to  Captain  Gray  Armstrong  and  Colonel  Jim  ZSTiel, 
both  of  whom  were  glad  to  see  me,  as  we  were  old  ante-bellum 
friends.  While  at  Colonel  Kiel's  marquee  I  saw  a  detail  of 
soldiers  bring  out  a  man  by  the  name  of  Rowland,  whom  they 
were  going  to  shoot  to  death  with  musketry,  by  order  of  a  court- 
martial,  for  desertion.  I  learned  that  he  had  served  out  the  term 
for  which  he  had  originally  volunteered,  had  quit  our  army  and 
joined  that  of  the  Yankees,  and  was  captured  with  Prentiss' 
Yankee  brigade  at  Shiloh.  He  was  being  hauled  to  the  place  of 
execution  in  a  wagon,  sitting  on  an  old  gun  box,  which  was  to  be 
his  coffin.  When  they  got  to  the  grave,  which  had  been  dug  the 
day  before,  the  water  had  risen  in  it,  and  a  soldier  was  baling  it 
out.  Rowland  spoke  up  and  said,  "Please  hand  me  a  drink  of 
that  water,  as  I  want  -to  drink  out  of  my  own  grave  so  the  boys 
will  talk  about  it  when  I  am  dead,  and  remember  Rowland." 
They  handed  him  the  water  and  he  drank  all  there  was  in  the 
bucket,  and  handing  it  back  asked  them  to  please  hand  him  a 
little  more,  as  he  had  heard  that  water  was  very  scarce  in  hell, 
and  it  would  be  the  last  he  would  ever  drink.  He  was  then 
carried  to  the  death  post,  and  there  he  began  to  cut  up  jack  gen 
erally.  He  began  to  curse  Bragg,  Jeff.  Davis,  and  the  Southern 
Confederacy,  and  all  the  rebels  at  a  terrible  rate.  He  was  sim 
ply  arrogant  and  very  insulting.  I  felt  that  he  deserved  to  die. 


CORINTH.  41 

He  said  lie  would  show  the  rebels  how  a  Union  man  could  die. 
I  do  not  know  what  all  he  did  say.  When  the  shooting  detail 
came  up,  he  went  of  his  own  accord  and  knelt  down  at  the  post. 
The  Captain  commanding  the  squad  gave  the  command,  "Ready, 
aim,  fire!"  and  Rowland  tumbled  over  on  his  side.  It  was  the 
last  of  Rowland. 

KILLING  A  YANKEE  SHARPSHOOTER. 

Iii  our  immediate  front,  at  Corinth,  Mississippi,  our  men 
were  being  picked  off  by  sharpshooters,  and  a  great  many  were 
killed,  but  no  one  could  tell  where  the  shots  came  from.  At  one 
particular  post  it  was  sure  death.  Every  detail  that  had  beeii 
sent  to  this  post  for  a  week  had  been  killed.  In  distributing  the 
detail  this  post  fell  to  Tom  Webb  and  myself.  They  were  bring 
ing  off  a  dead  boy  just  as  we  went  on  duty.  Colonel  George  C. 
Porter,  of  the  6th  Tennessee,  warned  us  to  keep  a  good  lookout. 
We  took  our  stands.  A  minnie  ball  whistled  right  by  my  head. 
I  don't  think  it  missed  me  an  eighth  of  an  inch.  Tom  had  sat 
down  on  an  old  chunk  of  wood,  and  just  as  he  took  his  seat,  zip ! 
a  ball  took  the  chunk  of  wood.  Tom  picked  it  up  and  began 
laughing  at  our  tight  place.  Happening  to  glance  up  towards 
the  tree  tops,  I  saw  a  smoke  rising  above  a  tree,  and  about  the 
same  time  I  saw  a  Yankee  peep  from  behind  the  tree,  up  among 
the  bushes.  I  quickly  called  Tom's  attention  to  it,  and  pointed 
out  the  place.  We  could  see  his  ramrod  as  he  handled  it  while 
loading  his  gun ;  saw  him  raise  his  gun,  as  we  thought,  to  put  a 
cap  on  it.  Tom  in  the  meantime  had  lain  flat  on  his  belly  and 
placed  his  gun  across  the  chunk  he  had  been  sitting  on.  I.  had 
taken  a  rest  for  my  gun  by  the  side  of  a  sapling,  and  both  of  us 
had  dead  aim  at  the  place  where  the  Yankee  was.  Finally  we 
saw  him  sort  o'  peep  round  the  tree,  and  we  moved  about  a  little 
so  that  he  might  see  us,  and  as  we  did  so,  the  Yankee  stepped  out 
in  full  view,  and  bang,  bang !  Tom  and  I  had  both  shot.  We 
saw  that  Yankee  tumble  out  like  a  squirrel.  It  sounded  like 
distant  thunder  when  that  Yankee  struck  the  ground.  We 
heard  the  Yankees  carry  him  off.  One  thing  I  am  certain  of, 
and  that  is,  not  another  Yankee  went  up  that  tree  that  day,  and 
Colonel  George  C.  Porter  complimented  Tom  and  I  very  highly 


42 


H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE   REGIMENT. 


on  our  success.  This  is  where  I  first  saw  a  jack  o'  lantern 
(ignis  fatui).  That  night,  while  Tom  and  I  were  on  our  posts, 
we  saw  a  number  of  very  dim  lights,  which  seemed  to  be  in 
motion.  At  first  we  took  them  to  be  Yankees  moving  about  with 
lights.  Whenever  we  could  get  a  shot  we  would  blaze  away. 
At  last  one  got  up  very  close,  and  passed  right  between  Tom  and 
I.  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  more  scared  in  my  life.  My  hair 
stood  on  end  like  the  quills  of  the  fretful  porcupine ;  I  could  not 
imagine  what  on  earth  it  was.  I  took  it  to  be  some  hellish 
machination  of  a  Yankee  trick.  I  did  not  know  whether  to  run 
or  stand,  until  I  heard  Tom  laugh  and  say,  "Well,  well,  that's  a 
jack  o'  lantern." 

COLONEL  FIELD. 

Before  proceeding  further  with  these  memoirs,  I  desire  to 
give  short  sketches  of  two  personages  with  whom  we  were  identi 
fied  and  closely  associated  until  the  winding  up  of  the  ball. 
The  first  is  Colonel  Hume  R.  Field.  Colonel  Field  was  born  a 
soldier.  I  have  read  many  descriptions  of  Stonewall  Jackson. 
Colonel  Field  was  his  exact  counterpart.  They  looked  some 
what  alike,  spoke  alike,  and  alike  were  trained  military  soldiers. 
The  War  Department  at  Richmond  made  a  grand  mistake  in  not 
making  him  a  "commander  of  armies."  He  was  not  a  brilliant 
man ;  could  not  talk  at  all.  He  was  a  soldier.  His  conversation 
was  yea  and  nay.  But  when  you  could  get  "yes,  sir,"  and  "no, 
sir,"  out  of  him  his  voice  was  as  soft  and  gentle  as  a  maid's  when 
she  says  "yes"  to  her  lover.  Fancy,  if  you  please,  a  man  about 
thirty  years  old,  a  dark  skin,  made  swarthy  by  exposure  to  sun 
and  rain,  very  black  eyes  that  seemed  to  blaze  with  a  gentle  lus 
ter.  I  never  saw  him  the  least  excited  in  my  life.  His  face 
was  a  face  of  bronze.  His  form  was  somewhat  slender,  but 
when  you  looked  at  him  you  saw  at  the  first  glance  that  this 
would  be  a  dangerous  man  in  a  ground  skuffle,  a  foot  race,  or  a 
fight.  There  was  nothing  repulsive  or  forbidding  or  even  dom 
ineering  in  his  looks.  A  child  or  a  dog  would  make  up  with  him 
on  first  sight.  He  knew  not  what  fear  wras,  or  the  meaning  of 
the  word  fear.  He  had  no  nerves,  or  rather,  has  a  rock  or  tree 


CORINTH.  43 

any  nerves  ?  You  might  as  well  try  to  shake  the  nerves  of  a 
rock  or  tree  as  those  of  Colonel  Field.  He  was  the  bravest  man, 
I  think,  I  ever  knew.  Later  in  the  war  he  was  known  by  every 
soldier  in  the  army ;  and  the  First  Tennessee  Regiment,  by  his 
manipulations,  became  the  regiment  to  occupy  "tight  places." 
He  knew  his  men.  When  he  struck  the  Yankee  line  they  felt 
the  blow.  He  had,  himself,  set  the  example,  and  so  trained  his 
regiment  that  all  the  armies  in  the  world  could  not  whip  it. 
They  might  kill  every  man  in  it,  is  true,  but  they  would  die  game 
to  the  last  man.  His  men  all  loved  him.  He  was  no  disciplina 
rian,  but  made  his  regiment  what  it  was  by  his  own  example. 
And  every  day  on  the  march  you  would  see  some  poor  old  ragged 
rebel  riding  his  fine  gray  mare,  and  he  was  walking. 

CAPTAIN  JOE  P.  LEE. 

The  other  person  I  wish  to  speak  of  is  Captain  Joe  P.  Lee. 
Captain  Henry  J.  Webster  was  our  regular  captain,  but  was 
captured  while  on  furlough,  sent  to  a  northern  prison  and  died 
there,  and  Joe  went  up  by  promotion.  He  was  quite  a  young 
man,  about  twenty-one  years  old,  but  as  brave  as  any  old  Roman 
soldier  that  ever  lived.  Joe's  face  was  ever  wreathed  in  smiles, 
and  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  he  was  ever  at  the  head  of 
his  company.  I  do  not  think  that  any  member  of  the  company 
ever  did  call  him  by  his  title.  He  was  called  simply  "Joe  Lee/7 
or  more  frequently  "Black  Perch."  While  on  duty  he  was 
strict  and  firm,  but  off  duty  he  was  "one  of  us  boys."  We  all 
loved  and  respected  him,  but  everybody  knows  Joe,  and  further 
comment  is  unnecessary. 

I  merely  mention  these  two  persons  because  in  this  rapid 
sketch  I  may  have  cause  occasionally  to  mention  them,  and  only 
wish  to  introduce  them  to  the  reader,  so  he  may  understand  more 
fully  my  ideas.  But,  reader,  please  remember  that  I  am  not 
writing  a  history  at  all,  and  do  not  propose  in  these  memoirs  to 
be  anybody's  biographer.  I  am  only  giving  my  own  impres 
sions.  If  other  persons  think  differently  from  me  it  is  all  right, 
and  I  forgive  them. 

COKINTH  FOKSAKEN. 

One  morning  a  detail  was  sent  to  burn  up  and  destroy  all 


44 


CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 


the  provisions  and  army  stores,  and  to  blow  up  the  arsenal.  The 
town  was  in  a  blaze  of  fire  and  the  arsenal  was  roaring  and  pop 
ping  and  bellowing  like  pandemonium  turned  loose  as  wre 
marched  through  Corinth  on  the  morning  of  the  evacuation. 
We  bade  farewell  to  Corinth.  Its  history  was  black  and  dark 
and  damning.  ISo  little  speck  of  green  oasis  ever  enlivened  the 
dark  recesses  of  our  memory  while  at  this  place.  It's  a  desert 
that  lives  only  in  bitter  memories.  It  was  but  one  vast  grave 
yard  that  entombed  the  life  and  spirit  of  once  brave  and  chival 
rous  men.  We  left  it  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Yankees 
without  one  tear  of  sorrow  or  regret,  and  bade  it  farewell 
forever. 


CHAPTER  IV.— TUPELO. 

TUPELO. 

We  went  into  summer  quarters  at  Tupelo.  Our  principal 
occupation  at  this  place  was  playing  poker,  chuck-a-luck  and 
cracking  graybacks  (lice).  Every  soldier  had  a  brigade  of  lice 
on  him,  and  I  have  seen  fellows  so  busily  engaged  in  cracking 
them  that  it  reminded  me  of  an  old  woman  knitting.  At  first 
the  boys  would  go  off  in  the  woods  and  hide  to  louse  themselves, 
but  that  was  unnecessary,  the  ground  fairly  crawled  with  lice. 
Pharaoh's  people,  when  they  were  resisting  old  Moses,  never 
enjoyed  the  curse  of  lice  more  than  we  did.  The  boys  would 
frequently  have  a  louse  race.  There  was  one  fellow  who  was 
winning  all  the  money;  his  lice  would  run  quicker  and  crawl 
faster  than  anybody's  lice.  We  could  not  understand  it.  If 
some  fellow  happened  to  catch  a  fierce-looking  louse,  he  would 
call  on  Dornin  for  a  race.  Dornin  would  come  and  always  win 


TUPELO.  45 

the  stake.  The  lice  were  placed  in  plates — this  was  the  race 
course — and  the  first  that  crawled  off  was  the  winner.  At  last 
we  found  out  D.'s  trick ;  he  always  heated  his  plate. 

Billy  P.  said  he  had  no  lice  on  him. 

"Did  you  ever  look  ?" 

"No." 

"How  do  you  know  then?" 

"If  ignorance  is  bliss  'tis  folly  to  be  wise,"  said  Billy. 

"Why,  there  is  one  crawling  on  your  bosom  now." 

Billy  took  him  and  put  him  back  in  his  bosom  and  said  to 
the  louse,  "You  stay  there  now;  this  makes  the  fourth  time  I 
have  put  you  back,  and  if  I  catch  you  out  again  to-day  I'll  martyr 
you." 

Billy  was  philosophic — the  death  of  one  louse  did  not  stop 
the  breed. 

THE  COURT-MARTIAL  AT  TUPELO. 

At  this  place  was  held  the  grand  court-martial.  Almost 
every  day  we  would  hear  a  discharge  of  musketry,  and  knew  that 
some  poor,  trembling  wretch  had  bid  farewell  to  mortal  things 
here  below.  It  seemed  to  be  but  a  question  of  time  with  all  of 
us  as  to  when  we  too  would  be  shot.  We  were  afraid  to  chirp. 
So  far  now  as  patriotism  was  concerned,  we  had  forgotten  all 
about  that,  and  did  not  now  so  much  love  our  country  as  we 
feared  Bragg.  Men  were  being  led  to  the  death  stake  every  day. 
I  heard  of  many  being  shot,  but  did  not  see  but  two  men  shot 
myself.  I  do  not  know  to  what  regiment  they  belonged,  but  I 
remember  that  they  were  mere  beardless  boys.  I  did  not  learn 
for  what  crime  or  the  magnitude  of  their  offenses.  They  might 
have  deserved  death  for  all  I  know. 

I  saw  an  old  man,  about  sixty  years  old,  whose  name  was 
Dave  Brewer,  and  another  man,  about  forty-five,  by  the  name 
of  Rube  Franklin,  whipped.  There  was  many  a  man  whipped 
and  branded  that  I  never  saw  or  heard  tell  of.  But  the  reason  I 
remembered  these  two  was  that  they  belonged  to  Company  A  of 
the  23rd  Tennessee  Regiment,  and  I  knew  many  men  in  the 
regiment. 

These  two  men  were  hung  up  by  the  hands,  after  having 


46 


CO.    II.,    FIKST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 


their  heads  shaved,  to  a  tree,  put  there  for  the  purpose,  with  the 
prongs  left  on  them,  and  one  hand  was  stretched  toward  one 
prong  and  the  other  hand  to  another  prong,  their  feet,  perhaps, 
just  touching  the  ground.  The  man  who  did  the  whipping  had 
a  thick  piece  of  sole-leather,  the  end  of  which  was  cut  in  three 
strips,  and  this  tacked  on  to  the  end  of  a  paddle.  After  the 
charges  and  specifications  had  been  read  (both  men  being  stark 
naked),  the  whipper  "lit  in'7  on  Rube,  who  was  the  youngest. 
I  do  not  think  he  intended  to  hit  as  hard  as  he  did,  but,  being 
excited  himself,  he  blistered  Rube  from  head  to  foot.  Thirty- 
nine  lashes  was  always  the  number.  Now,  three  times  thirty- 
nine  makes  one  hundred  and  seventeen.  When  he  struck  at  all, 
one  lick  would  make  three  whelps.  When  he  had  finished  Rube, 
the  Captain  commanding  the  whipping  squad  told  him  to  lay  it 
on  old  man  Brewer  as  light  as  the  law  would  allow,  that  old  man 
Brewer  was  so  old  that  he  would  die — that  he  could  not  stand  it. 
He  struck  old  man  Dave  Brewer  thirty-nine  lashes,  but  they 
were  laid  on  light.  Old  Dave  didn't  beg  and  squall  like  Rube 
did.  He  j-e-s-t  did  whip  old  man  Dave.  Like  the  old  preacher 
who  caught  the  bear  on  Sunday.  They  had  him  up  before  the 
church,  agreed  to  let  him  off  if  he  did  not  again  set  his  trap. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "brethren,  I  j-e-s-t  did  set  it," 

RAIDING  ON   ROASTINGEARS. 

At  this  place  General  Bragg  issued  an  order  authorizing 
citizens  to  defend  themselves  against  the  depredations  of  sol 
diers — to  shoot  them  down  if  caught  depredating. 

Well,  one  day  Byron  Richardson  and  myself  made  a  raid 
on  an  old  citizen's  roastingear  patch.  We  had  pulled  about  all 
the  corn  that  we  could  carry.  I  had  my  arms  full  and  was 
about  starting  for  camp,  when  an  old  citizen  raised  up  and  said, 
"Stop  there!  drop  that  corn."  He  had  a  double-barreled  shot 
gun  cocked  and  .leveled  at  my  breast. 

"Come  and  go  with  me  to  General  Bragg's  headquarters. 
I  intend  to  take  you  there,  by  the  living  God !" 

I  was  in  for  it.  Directed  to  go  in  front,  I  was  being 
marched  to  Bragg's  headquarters.  I  could  see  the  devil  in  the 


KENTUCKY.  47 

old  fellow's  eye.  I  tried  to  beg  off  with  good  promises,  but  the 
old  fellow  was  deaf  to  all  entreaty.  I  represented  to  him  all  of 
our  hardships  and  suffering.  But  the  old  fellow  was  inexorable. 
I  was  being  steadily  carried  toward  Bragg' s  headquarters.  I 
was  determined  not  to  see  General  Bragg,  even  if  the  old  citizen 
shot  me  in  the  back.  When  all  at  once  a  happy  thought  struck 
me.  Says  I,  "Mister,  Byron  Richardson  is  in  your  field,  and  if 
you  will  go  back  we  can  catch  him  and  you  can  take  both  of  us 
to  General  Bragg.'7  The  old  felloVs  spunk  was  up.  He  had 
captured  me  so  easy,  he  no  doubt  thought  he  could  whip  a  dozen. 
We  went  back  a  short  distance,  and  there  was  Byron,  who  had 
just  climbed  over  the  fence  and  had  his  arms  full,  when  the  old 
citizen,  diverted  from  me,  leveled  his  double-barrel  at  Byron, 
when  I  made  a  grab  for  his  gun,  which  was  accidentally  dis 
charged  in  the  air,  and  with  the  assistance  of  Byron,  we  had  the 
old  fellow  and  his  gun  both.  The  table  was  turned.  We  made 
the  old  fellow  gather  as  much  as  he  could  carry,  and  made  him 
carry  it  nearly  to  camp,  when  we  dismissed  him,  a  wiser  if  not 
a  better  and  richer  man.  We  took  his  gun  and  bent  it  around  a 
black  jack  tree.  He  was  at  the  soldiers'  mercy. 


CHAPTER  V.— KENTUCKY. 

WE  GO  INTO  KENTUCKY. 

After  being  thoroughly  reorganized  at  Tupelo,  and  the 
troops  had  recovered  their  health  and  spirits,  we  made  an  ad 
vance  into  Kentucky.  We  took  the  cars  at  Tupelo  and  went  to 
Mobile,  from  thence  across  Mobile  Bay  to  Montgomery,  Ala 
bama,  then  to  Atlanta,  from  there  to  Chattanooga,  and  then  over 
the  mountains  afoot  to  the  blue-grass  regions  of  Kentucky — the 


48  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

dark  and  bloody  ground.  Please  remember,  patient  reader,  that 
I  write  entirely  from  memory.  I  nave  no  data  or  diary  or  any 
thing  to  go  by,  and  memory  is  a  peculiar  faculty.  I  find  that  I 
cannot  remember  towns  and  battles,  and  remember  only  the  little 
things.  I  remember  how  gladly  the  citizens  of  Kentucky  re 
ceived  us.  I  thought  they  had  the  prettiest  girls  that  God  ever 
made.  They  could  not  do  too  much  for  us.  They  had  heaps 
and  stacks  of  cooked  rations  along  our  route,  with  wine  and  cider 
everywhere,  and  the  glad  shouts  of  "Hurrah  for  our  Southern 
boys !"  greeted  and  welcomed  us  at  every  house.  Ah,  the  boys 
felt  like  soldiers  again.  The  bands  played  merrier  and  livelier 
tunes.  It  was  the  patient  convalescing ;  the  fever  had  left  him, 
he  was  getting  fat  and  strong ;  the  old  fire  was  seen  to  illuminate 
his  eyes ;  his  step  was  buoyant  and  proud ;  he  felt  ashamed  that 
he  had  ever  been  "hacked ;"  he  could  fight  now.  It  was  the  same 
old  proud  soldier  of  yore.  The  bands  played  "Dixie"  and  the 
"Bonnie  Blue  Flag,77  the  citizens  cheered,  and  the  ladies  waved 
their  handkerchiefs  and  threw  us  bouquets.  Ah,  those  were 
halcyon  days,  and  your  old  soldier,  kind  reader,  loves  to  recall 
that  happy  period.  Mumf ordsville  had  been  captured  with  five 
thousand  prisoners.  New  recruits  were  continually  joining  our 
ranks. 

Camp  Dick  Robinson,  that  immense  pile  of  army  stores,  had 
fallen  into  our  hands.  We  rode  upon  the  summit  of  the  wave 
of  success.  The  boys  had  got  clean  clothes,  and  had  their  faces 
Avashed.  I  saw  then  what  I  had  long  since  forgotten — a  "cock 
ade."  The  Kentucky  girls  made  cockades  for  us,  and  almost 
every  soldier  had  one  pinned  on  his  hat.  But  stirring  events 
were  hastening  on,  the  black  cloud  of  battle  and  war  had  begun 
then  to  appear  much  larger  than  a  man's  hand,  in  fact  we  could 
see  the  lightning  flash  and  hear  the  thunder  roar. 

We  were  at  Harrodsburg;  the  Yankees  were  approaching 
Perryville  under  General  Buell.  The  Yankees  had  been  dog 
ging  our  rear,  picking  up  our  stragglers  and  capturing  some  of 
our  wagon  trains. 

This  good  time  that  we  were  having  was  too  good  to  last 
We  were  in  an  ecstasy  akin  to  heaven.  We  were  happy;  the 


KENTUCKY.  49 

troops  were  jubilant ;  our  manhood  blood  pulsated  more  warmly ; 
our  patriotism  was  awakened ;  our  pride  was  renewed  and  stood 
ready  for  any  emergency;  we  felt  that  one  Southern  man  could 
whip  twenty  Yankees.  All  was  lovely  and  the  goose  hung  high. 
We  went  to  dances  and  parties  every  night. 

When  General  Chalmers  marched  to  Perryville,  in  flanking 
and  surrounding  Mumfordsville,  we  marched  the  whole  night 
long.  We,  the  private  soldiers,  did  not  know  what  was  going  on 
among  the  generals.  All  that  we  had  to  do  was  march,  march, 
march.  It  mattered  not  how  tired,  hungry,  or  thirsty  we  were. 
All  that  we  had  to  do  was  to  march  that  whole  night  long,  and 
every  staff  officer  who  would  pass,  some  fellow  would  say,  "Hey. 
mister,  how  far  is  it  to  Mumfordsville?"  He  would  answer, 
"five  miles."  It  seemed  to  me  we  traveled  a  hundred  miles 
and  were  always  within  five  miles  of  Mumfordsville.  That 
night  we  heard  a  volley  of  musketry  in  our  immediate  front,  and 
did  not  know  what  it  meant,  but  soon  we  came  to  where  a  few 
soldiers  had  lighted  some  candles  and  were  holding  them  over 
the  body  of  a  dead  soldier.  It  was  Captain  Allison,  if  I  remem 
ber  rightly,  of  General  Cheatham's  staff.  He  was  very  bloody, 
and  had  his  clothes  riddled  with  balls.  I  heard  that  he  rode  on 
in  front  of  the  advance  guard  of  our  army,  and  had  no  doubt 
discovered  the  Yankee  picket,  and  came  galloping  back  at  full 
speed  in  the  dark,  when  our  advance  guard  fired  on  and  killed 
him. 

We  laid  down  in  a  graveyard  that  night  and  slept,  and  when 
we  awoke  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  shining  in  our  faces. 
Mumfordsville  had  surrendered.  The  next  day  Dr.  C.  T.  Quin- 
tard  let  me  ride  his  horse  nearly  all  day,  while  he  walked  with 
the  webfeet. 

THE  BATTLE   OF  PEBRYVIKLE. 

In  giving  a  description  of  this  most  memorable  battle,  I  do 
not  pretend  to  give  you  figures,  and  describe  how  this  general 
looked  and  how  that  one  spoke,  and  the  other  one  charged  with 
drawn  sabre,  etc.  I  know  nothing  of  these  things — see  the  his 
tory  for  that.  I  was  simply  a  soldier  of  the  line,  and  I  only 
write  of  the  things  I  saw.  I  was  in  every  battle,  skirmish  and 


50  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  BEGHMEMT* 

march  that  was  made  by  the  First  Tennessee  Regiment  during 
the  war,  and  I  do  not  remember  of  a  harder  contest  and  more 
evenly  fought  battle  than  that  of  Perryville.  If  it  had  been  two 
men  wrestling,  it  would  have  been  called  a  "dog  fall."  Both 
sides  claim  the  victory — both  whipped. 

I  stood  picket  in  Perryville  the  night  before  the  battle — a 
Yankee  on  one  side  of  the  street,  and  I  on  the  other.  We  got 
very  friendly  during  the  night,  and  made  a  raid  upon  a  citizen's 
pantry,  where  we  captured  a  bucket  of  honey,  a  pitcher  of  sweet 
milk,  and  three  or  four  biscuit.  The  old  citizen  was  not  at  home 
—he  and  his  whole  household  had  gone  visiting,  I  believe.  In 
fact,  I  think  all  of  the  citizens  of  Perryville  were  taken  with  a 
sudden  notion  of  promiscuous  visiting  about  this  time ;  at  least 
they  were  not  at  home  to  all  callers. 

At  length  the  morning  dawned.  Our  line  was  drawn  up 
on  one  side  of  Perryville,  the  Yankee  army  on  the  other.  The 
two  enemies  that  were  soon  to  meet  in  deadly  embrace  seemed 
to  be  eyeing  each  other.  The  blue  coats  lined  the  hillside  in 
plain  view.  You  could  count  the  number  of  their  regiments  by 
the  number  of  their  flags.  We  could  see  the  huge  war  dogs 
frowning  at  us,  ready  at  any  moment  to  belch  forth  their  fire 
and  smoke,  and  hurl  their  thunderbolts  of  iron  and  death  in  our 
very  midst. 

I  wondered  why  the  fighting  did  not  begin.  Never  on 
earth  were  our  troops  more  eager  for  the  engagement  to  open. 
The  Yankees  commenced  to  march  toward  their  left,  and  we 
marched  almost  parallel  to  our  right — both  sides  watching  each 
other's  maneuvers  and  movements.  It  was  but  the  lull  that 
precedes  the  storm.  Colonel  Field  was  commanding  our  bri 
gade,  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  Patterson  our  regiment.  About 
12  o'clock,  while  we  were  marching  through  a  corn  field,  in 
which  the  corn  had  been  shocked,  they  opened  their  war  dogs 
upon  us.  The  beginning  of  the  end  had  come.  Here  is  where 
Captain  John  F.  Wheless  was  wounded,  and  three  others,  whose 
names  I  liave  forgotten.  The  battle  now  opened  in  earnest,  and 
from  one  end  of  the  line  to  the  other  seemed  to  be  a  solid  sheet 
of  blazing  smoke  and  fire.  Our  regiment  crossed  a  stream,  be- 


KENTUCKY.  51 

ing  preceded  by  Wharton's  Texas  Rangers,  and  we  were  ordered 
to  attack  at  once  with  vigor.  Here  General  Maney's  horse  was 
shot.  From  this  moment  the  battle  was  a  mortal  struggle.  Two 
lines  of  battle  confronted  us.  We  killed  almost  every  one  in  the 
first  line,  and  were  soon  charging  over  the  second,  when-  right 
in  our  immediate  front  was  their  third  and  main  line  of  battle 
from  which  four  Napoleon  guns  poured  their  deadly  fire. 

We  did  not  recoil,  but  our  line  was  fairly  hurled  back  by 
the  leaden  hail  "that  was  poured  into  our  very  faces.  Eight 
color-bearers  were  killed  at  one  discharge  of  their  cannon.  We 
were  right  up  among  the  very  wheels  of  their  Napoleon  guns. 
It  was  death  to  retreat  now  to  either  side.  Our  Lieutenant- 
Colonel,  Patterson,  halloed  to  charge  and  take  their  guns,  and 
we  were  soon  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight — every  man  for  himself — 
using  the  butts  of  our  guns  and  bayonets.  One  side  would 
waver  and  fall  back  a  few  yards,  and  would  rally,  when  the  other 
side  would  fall  back,  leaving  the  four  Napoleon  guns ;  and  yet 
the  battle  raged.  Such  obstinate  fighting  I  never  had  seen  be 
fore  or  since.  The  guns  were  discharged  so  rapidly  that  it 
seemed  the  earth  itself  was  in  a  volcanic  uproar.  The  iron 
storm  passed  through  our  ranks,  mangling  and  tearing  men  to 
pieces.  The  very  air  seemed  full  of  stifling  smoke  and  fire, 
which  seemed  the  very  pit  of  hell,  peopled  by  contending  de 
mons. 

Our  men  were  dead  and  dying  right  in  the  very  midst  of 
this  grand  havoc  of  battle.  It  was  a  life  to  life  and  death  to 
death  grapple.  The  sun  was  poised  above  us,  a  great  red  ball, 
•sinking  slowly  in  the  west,  yet  the  scene  of  battle  and  carnage 
continued.  I  cannot  describe  it.  The  mantle  of  night  fell 
upon  the  scene.  I  do  not  know  which  side  whipped,  but  I  know 
that  I  helped  bring  off  those  four  Napoleon  guns  that  night, 
though  we  were  mighty  easy  about  it. 

They  were  given  to  Turner's  Battery  of  our  brigade,  and 
had  the  name  of  our  Lieutenant-Colonel,  Patterson,  and  our 
color-bearer,  Mitchell,  both  of  whom  were  killed,  inscribed  on 
two  of  the  pieces.  I  have  forgotten  the  names  inscribed  on  the 
other  two  pieces.  I  saw  these  very  four  guns  surrendered  at 
Missionary  Ridge.  But  of  this  another  time. 


52  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

The  battle  of  Perryville  presented  a  strange  scene.  The 
dead,  dying,  and  wounded  of  both  armies,  Confederate  and  Fed 
eral,  were  blended  in  inextricable  confusion,  Now  and  then  a 
cluster  of  dead  Yankees  and  close  by  a  cluster  of  dead  Rebels. 
It  was  like  the  Englishman's  grog — 'alf  and  'alf.  Now,  if  you 
wish,  kind  reader,  to  find  out  how  many  were  killed  and  wound 
ed,  I  refer  you  to  the  histories. 

I  remember  one  little  incident  that  I  laughed  at  while  in 
the  very  midst  of  battle.  We  were  charging  through  an  old 
citizen's  yard,  when  a  big  yellow  cur  dog  ran  out  and  commenced 
snapping  at  the  soldiers'  legs — they  kicking  at  him  to  keep  him 
off.  The  next  morning  he  was  lying  near  the  same  place,  but 
he  was  a  dead  dog. 

I  helped  bring  off  our  wounded  that  night.  We  worked 
the  whole  night.  The  next  morning  about  daylight  a  wounded 
comrade,  Sam  Campbell,  complained  of  being  cold,  and  asked 
me  to  lie  down  beside  him.  I  did  so,  and  was  soon  asleep; 
when  I  awoke  the  poor  fellow  was  stiff  and  cold  in  death.  His 
spirit  had  flown  to  its  home  beyond  the  skies. 

After  the  battle  was  over,  John  T.  Tucker,  Scott  Stephens, 
A.  S.  Horsley  and  I  were  detailed  to  bring  off  our  wounded  that 
night,  and  we  helped  to  bring  off  many  a  poor  dying  comrade — 
Joe  Thompson,  Billy  Bond,  Byron  Richardson,  the  two  Allen 
boys — brothers,  killed  side  by  side — and  Colonel  Patterson,  who 
was  killed  standing  right  by  my  side.  He  was  first  shot  through 
the  hand,  and  was  wrapping  his  handkerchief  around  it,  when 
another  ball  struck  and  killed  him.  I  saw  W.  J.  Whittorne 
then  a  strippling  boy  of  fifteen  years  of  age,  fall,  shot  through 
the  neck  and  collar-bone.  He  fell  apparently  dead,  when  I  saw 
him  all  at  once  jump  up,  grab  his  gun  and  commence  loading 
and  firing,  and  I  heard  him  say,  "D — n  'em,  I'll  fight  'em  as 
long  as  I  live."  Whit  thought  heVas  killed,  but  he  is  living  yet, 
We  helped  bring  off  a  man  by  the  name  of  Hodge,  with  his  under 
jaw  shot  off,  and  his  tongue  lolling  out.  We  brought  off  Cap 
tain  Lute  B.  Irvine.  Lute  was  shot  through  the  lungs  and  was 
vomiting  blood  all  the  while,  and  begging  us  to  lay  him  down 
and  let  him  die.  But  Lute  is  living  yet.  Also,  Lieutenant 


KENTUCKY.  53 

Woldridge,  with  both  eyes  shot  out.  I  found  him  rambling  in 
a  briar-patch.  About  fifty  members  of  the  Rock  City  Guards 
were  killed  and  nearly  one  hundred  wounded.  They  were  led 
by  Captains  W.  D.  Kelley,  Wheless,  and  Steele.  Lieutenant 
Thomas  H.  Maney  was  badly  wounded.  I  saw  dead  on  the  bat 
tlefield  a  Federal  General  by  the  name  of  Jackson.  It  was  his 
brigade  that  fought  us  so  obstinately  at  this  place,  and  I  did  hear 
that  they  were  made  up  in  Kentucky.  Colonel  Field,  then  com* 
manding  our  brigade,  and  on  his  fine  gray  mare,  rode  up  almost 
face  to  face  with  General  Jackson,  before  he  was  killed,  and 
Colonel  Field  was  shooting  all  the  time  with  his  seven-shooting 
rifle.  I  cannot  tell  the  one-half,  or  even  remember  at  this  late 
date,  the  scenes  of  blood  and  suffering  that  I  witnessed  on  the 
battlefield  of  Perryville.  But  its  history,  like  all  the  balance, 
has  gone  into  the  history  of  the  war,  and  it  has  been  twenty 
years  ago,  and  I  write  entirely  from  memory.  I  remember 
Lieutenant  Joe  P.  Lee  and  Captain  W.  C.  Flournoy  standing 
right  at  the  muzzle  of  the  Napoleon  guns,  and  the  next  moment 
seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  smoke  and  fire  from  the  discharge  of 
the  cannon.  When  the  regiment  recoiled  under  the  heavy  firing 
and  at  the  first  charge,  Billy  Webster  and  I  stopped  behind  a 
large  oak  tree  and  continued  to  fire  at  the  Yankees  until  the  regi 
ment  was  again  charging  upon  the  four  Napoleon  guns,  heavily 
supported  by  infantry.  We  were  not  more  than  twenty  paces 
from  them ;  and  here  I  was  shot  through  the  hat  and  cartridge- 
box.  I  remember  this,  because  at  that  time  Billy  and  I 
were  in  advance  of  our  line,  and  whenever  we  saw  a  Yankee  rise 
to  shoot,  we  shot  him ;  and  I  desire  to  mention  here  that  a  braver 
or  more  noble  boy  was  never  created  on  earth  than  was  Billy 
Webster.  Everybody  liked  him.  He  was  the  flower  and  chiv 
alry  of  our  regiment.  His  record  as  a  brave  and  noble  boy  will 
ever  live  in  the  hearts  of  his  old  comrades  that  served  with  him 
in  Company  H.  He  is  up  yonder  now,  and  we  shall  meet  again. 
3n  these  memoirs  I  only  tell  what  I  saw  myself,  and  in  this  way 
the  world  will  know  the  truth.  Now,  citizen,  let  me  tell  you 
what  you  never  heard  before,  and  this  is  this — there  were  many 
men  with  the  rank  and  pay  of  general,  who  were  not  generals ; 


54  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

there  were  many  men  with  the  rank  and  pay  of  privates  who 
would  have  honored  and  adorned  the  name  of  general.  Now,  I 
will  state  further  that  a  private  soldier  was  a  private. 

It  mattered  not  how  ignorant  a  corporal  might  be;  he  was 
always  right ;  it  mattered  not  how  intelligent  the  private  might 
be  (and  so  on  up)  ;  the  sergeant  was  right  over  the  corporal, 
the  sergeant-major  over  the  sergeant,  the  lieutenant  over  him, 
and  the  captain  over  him,  and  the  major  over  him,  and  the 
colonel  over  him,  and  the  general  over  him,  and  so  on  up  to 
Jeff  Davis.  You  see,  a  private  had  no  right  to  know  anything^ 
and  that  is  why  generals  did  all  the  fighting,  and  that  is  to-day 
why  generals  and  colonels  and  captains  are  great  men.  They 
fought  the  battles  of  our  country.  The  privates  did  not.  The 
generals  risked  their  reputation,  the  private  soldier  his  life. 
isTo  one  ever  saw  a  private  in  battle.  His  history  would  never 
be  written.  It  was  the  generals  that  everybody  gaw  charge 
such  and  such,  with  drawn  sabre,  his  eyes  flashing  fire,  his  nos 
trils  dilated,  and  his  clarion  voice  ringing  above  the  din  of 
battle — "in  a  horn,"  over  the  left. 

Bill  Johns  and  Marsh  Pinkard  would  have  made  Generals 
that  would  have  distinguished  themselves  and  been  an  honor  to 
the  country. 

I  know  to-day  many  a  private  who  would  have  made  a  good 
General.  I  know  of  many  a  General  who  was  better  fitted  to  be 
excused  from  detail  and  fights,  to  hang  around  a  camp  and  draw 
rations  for  the  company.  A  private  had  no  way  to  distinguish 
himself.  He  had  to  keep  in  ranks,  either  in  a  charge  or  a  re- 
treai.  But  now,  as  the  Generals  and  Colonels  fill  all  the  posi 
tions  of  honor  and  emoluments,  the  least  I  say,  the  better. 

THE  RETREAT  OUT  OF  KENTUCKY. 

From  Perryville  we  went  to  Camp  Dick  Kobinson  and  drew 
three  days'  rations,  and  then  set  fire  to  and  destroyed  all  those 
great  deposits  of  army  stores  which  would  have  supplied  the 
South  for  a  year.  We  ate  those  rations  and  commenced  our  re 
treat  out  of  Kentucky  with  empty  haversacks  and  still  emptier 
stomachs. 

We  supposed  our  general  and  commissaries  knew  what 


KENTUCKY.  55 

they  were  doing,  and  at  night  we  would  again  draw  rations,  but 
we  didn't. 

The  Yankee  cavalry  are  worrying  our  rear  guards.  There 
is  danger  of  an  attack  at  any  moment.  No  soldier  is  allowed 
to  break  ranks. 

We  thought,  well  surely  we  will  draw  rations  to-night. 
But  we  didn't.  We  are  marching  for  Cumberland  Gap;  the 
country  has  long  ago  been  made  desolate  by  the  alternate  occu 
pation  of  both  armies.  There  are  no  provisions  in  the  country. 
It  has  long  since  been  laid  waste.  We  wanted  rations,  but  we 
did  not  get  them. 

Fourth  day  out — Cumberland  Gap  in  the  distance — a  great 
indenture  in  the  ranges  of  Cumberland  mountains.  The  scene 
was  grand.  But  grand  scenery  had  but  little  attraction  for  a 
hungry  soldier.  Surely  we  will  get  rations  at  Cumberland  Gap. 
Toil  on  up  the  hill,  and  when  half  way  up  the  hill,  "Halt  !"- 
march  back  down  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  to  defend  the  cavalry. 
I  was  hungry.  A  cavalryman  was  passing  our  regiment  with 
a  pile  of  scorched  dough  on  the  pummel  of  his  saddle.  Says  I, 
"Halt !  I  am  going  to  have  a  pattock  of  that  bread."  "Don't 
give  it  to  him !  don't  give  it  to  him !"  was  yelled  out  from  all 
sides.  I  cocked  my  gun  and  was  about  to  raise  it  to  my  shoul 
der,  when  he  handed  me  over  a  pattock  of  scorched  dough,  and 
every  fellow  in  Company  H  made  a  grab  for  it,  and  I  only  got 
about  two  or  three  mouthfuls.  About  dark  a  wild  heifer  ran 
by  our  regiment,  and  I  pulled  down  on  her.  We  killed  and 
skinned  her,  and  I  cut  off  about  five  pounds  of  hindquarter.  In 
three  minutes  there  was  no  sign  of  that  beef  left  to  tell  the  tale, 
We  ate  that  beef  raw  and  without  salt. 

Only  eight  miles  now  to  Cumberland  Gap,  and  we  will  get 
rations  now.  But  we  didn't.  We  descended  the  mountain  on 
the  southern  side.  No  rations  yet. 

Well,  says  I,  this  won't  do  me.  I  am  going  to  hunt  some 
thing  to  eat,  Bragg  or  no  Bragg.  I  turned  off  the  road  and 
struck  out  through  the  coimtry,  but  had  gone  but  a  short  distance 
before  I  came  across  a  group  of  soldiers  clambering  over  some 
thing.  It  was  Tom  Tuck  with  a  barrel  of  sorghum  that  he  had 


56  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

captured  from  a  good  Union  man.  He  was  selling  it  out  at  five 
dollars  a  quart.  I  paid  my  five  dollars,  and  by  pushing  and 
scrouging  I  finally  got  my  quart.  I  sat  down  and  drank  it ;  it 
was  bully ;  it  was  not  so  good ;  it  was  not  worth  a  cent ;  I  was 
sick,  and  have  never  loved  sorghum  since. 

Along  the  route  it  was  nothing  but  tramp,  tramp,  tramp, 
and  no  sound  or  noise  but  the  same  inevitable,  monotonous 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  up  hill  and  down  hill,  through  long  and 
dusty  lanes,  weary,  wornout  and  hungry.  No  cheerful  warble 
of  a  merry  songster  would  ever  greet  our  ears.  It  was  always 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp.  You  might,  every  now  and  then,  hear 
the  occasional  words,  "close  up ;"  but  outside  of  that,  it  was  but 
the  same  tramp,  tramp,  trstmp.  I  have  seen  soldiers  fast  asleep, 
and  no  doubt  dreaming  of  home  and  loved  ones  there,  as  they 
staggered  along  in  their  places  in  the  ranks.  I  know  that  on 
many  a  weary  night's  march  I  have  slept,  and  slept  soundly, 
while  marching  along  in  my  proper  place  in  the  ranks  of  the 
company,  stepping  to  the  same  step  as  the  soldier  in  front  of  me 
did.  Sometimes,  when  weary,  broken  down  and  worn  out,  some 
member  of  the  regiment  would  start  a  tune,  and  every  man  would 
join  in.  John  Branch  was  usually  the  leader  of  the  choir.  He 
would  commence  a  beautiful  tune.  The  words,  as  I  remember 
them  now,  were,  "Dear  Paul,  Just  Twenty  Years  Ago."  After 
singing  this  piece  he  would  commence  on  a  lively,  spirit-stirring- 
air  to  the  tune  of  "Old  Uncle  Ned."  Now,  reader,  it  has  been 
twenty  years  ago  since  I  heard  it,  but  I  can  remember  a  part  of 
it  now.  Here  it  is : 

"There  was  an  ancient  individual  whose  cognomen  was  Uncle  Edward. 
He  departed  this  life  long  since,  long  since. 
He  had  no  capillary  substance  on  the  top  of  his  cranium, 
The  place  where  the  capillary  substance  ought  to  vegetate. 

His  digits  were  as  long  as  the  bamboo  piscatorial  implement  of  the   Southern 

Mississippi. 

He  had  no  oculars  to  observe  the  beauties  of  nature. 
He  had  no  ossified  formation  to  masticate  his  daily  rations, 
So  he  had  to  let  his  daily  rations  pass  by  with  impunity." 

Walker  Coleman  raises  the  tune  of  "I'se  a  gwine  to  jine  the 
rebel  band,  a  fightin'  for  my  home." 

Now,  reader,  the  above  is  all  I  can  now  remember  of  that 
very  beautiful  and  soul-stirring  air.  But  the  boys  would  wake 


KENTUCKY.  57 

up  and  step  quicker  and  livelier  for  some  time,  and  Arthur  Ful- 
ghum  would  holloa  out,  "All  right ;  go  ahead !"  and  then  would 
toot !  toot !  as  if  the  cars  were  starting — puff !  puff !  puff !  and 
then  he  would  say,  "Tickets,  gentlemen;  tickets,  gentlemen.7' 
like  he  was  conductor  on  a  train  of  cars.  This  little  episode 
would  be  over,  and  then  would  commence  the  same  tramp,  tramp, 
tramp,  all  night  long.  Step  by  step,  step  by  step,  we  continued 
to  plod  and  nod  and  stagger  and  march,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 
After  a  while  we  would  see  the  morning  star  rise  in  the  east,  and 
then  after  a  while  the  dim  gray  twilight,  and  finally  we  could 
discover  the  outlines  of  our  file  leader,  and  after  a  while  could 
make  out  the  outlines  of  trees  and  other  objects.  And  as  it 
would  get  lighter  and  lighter,  and  day  would  be  about  to  break, 
cuckoo,  cuckoo,  cuckoo,  would  come  from  Tom  Tuck's  rooster. 
[Tom  carried  a  game  rooster,  that  he  called  "Fed"  for  Confed 
eracy,  all  through  the  war  in  a  haversack.]  And  then  the  sun 
would  begin  to  shoot  his  slender  rays  athwart  the  eastern  sky, 
and  the  boys  would  wake  up  and  begin  laughing  and  talking  as 
if  they  had  just  risen  from  a  good  feather  bed,  and  were  per 
fectly  refreshed  and  happy.  We  would  usually  stop  at  some 
branch  or  other  about  breakfast  time,  and  all  wash  our  hands 
and  faces  and  eat  breakfast,  if  we  had  any,  and  then  commence 
our  weary  march  again.  If  we  were  halted  for  one  minute, 
every  soldier  would  drop  down,  and  resting  on  his  knapsack, 
would  go  to  sleep.  Sometimes  the  sleeping  soldiers  were  made 
to  get  up  to  let  some  general  and  his  staff  pass  by.  But  when 
ever  that  was  the  case,  the  general  always  got  a  worse  cursing 
than  when  Noah  cursed  his  son  Ham  black  and  blue.  I  heard 
Jesse  Ely  do  this  once. 

We  march  on.  The  scene  of  a  few  days  ago  comes  unbidden 
to  my  mind.  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the  soldiers  are  marching. 
Where  are  many  of  my  old  friends  and  comrades,  whose  names 
were  so  familiar  at  every  roll  call,  and  whose  familiar  "Here"  is 
no  more  ?  They  lie  yonder  at  Perryville,  unburied,  on  the  field 
of  battle.  They  lie  where  they  fell.  More  than  three  hundred 
and  fifty  members  of  my  regiment,  the  First  Tennessee,  num 
bered  among  the  killed  and  wounded — one  hundred  and  eighty- 


58  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  EEGIMENT. 

five  slain  on  the  field  of  battle.  Who  are  they  ?  Even  then  I 
had  to  try  to  think  up  the  names  of  all  the  slain  of  Company  H 
alone.  Their  spirits  seemed  to  be  with  ns  on  the  march,  but  we 
know  that  their  souls  are  with  their  God.  Their  bones,  to-day, 
no  doubt,  bleach  upon  the  battlefield.  They  left  their  homes, 
families,  and  loved  ones  a  little  more  than  one  short  twelve 
months  ago,  dressed  in  their  gray  uniforms,  amid  the  applause 
and  cheering  farewells  of  those  same  friends.  They  lie  yonder ; 
no  friendly  hands  ever  closed  their  eyes  in  death ;  no  kind,  gen 
tle,  and  loving  mother  was  there  to  shed  a  tear  over  and  say 
farewell  to  her  darling  boy ;  no  sister's  gentle  touch  ever  wiped 
the  death  damp  from  off  their  dying  brows.  Noble  boys ;  brave 
boys !  They  willingly  gave  their  lives  to  their  country's  cause. 
Their  bodies  and  bones  are  mangled  and  torn  by  the  rude  mis 
siles  of  war.  They  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  brave.  They  have 
given  their  all  to  their  country.  We  miss  them  from  our  ranks. 
There  are  no  more  hard  marches  and  scant  rations  for  them. 
They  have  accomplished  all  that  could  be  required  of  them. 
They  are  no  more;  their  names  are  soon  forgotten.  They  are 
put  down  in  the  roll-book  as  killed.  They  are  forgotten.  We 
will  see  them  no  more  until  the  last  reveille  on  the  last  morning 
of  the  final  resurrection.  Soldiers,  comrades,  friends,  noble 
boys,  farewell !  we  will  meet  no  more  on  earth,  but  up  yonder 
some  day  we  will  have  a  grand  reunion. 

KNOXVILLE. 

The  first  night  after  crossing  Cumberland  Gap — I  have  for 
gotten  the  date,  but  I  know  it  was  very  early  in  the  fall  of  the 
year ;  we  had  had  no  frost  or  cold  weather,  and  our  marches  all 
through  Kentucky  had  been  characterized  by  very  dry  weather, 
it  not  having  rained  a  drop  on  us  during  the  whole  time — about 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning  it  began  to  snow,  and  the  next  morn 
ing  the  ground  was  covered  with  a  deep  snow;  the  trees  and 
grass  and  everything  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  still  green. 

When  we  got  back  to  Knoxville  we  were  the  lousiest,  dirti 
est,  raggedest  looking  Rebels  you  ever  saw.  I  had  been  shot 
through  the  hat  and  cartridge-box  at  Perryville,  and  had  both 
on,  and  the  clothing  I  then  had  on  was  all  that  I  had  in  the 


KENTUCKY.  59 

world.  William  A.  Hughes  and  I  were  walking  up  the  street 
looking  at  the  stores,  etc.,  when  we  met  two  of  the  prettiest  girls 
I  ever  saw.  They  ran  forward  with  smiling  faces,  and  seemed 
very  glad  to  see  us.  I  thought  they  were  old  acquaintances  of 
Hughes,  and  Hughes  thought  they  were  old  acquaintances  of 
mine.  We  were  soon  laughing  and  talking  as  if  we  had  been 
old  friends,  when  one  of  the  young  ladies  spoke  up  and  said. 
"Gentlemen,  there  is  a  supper  for  the  soldiers  at  the  Ladies' 
Association  rooms,  and  we  are  sent  out  to  bring  in  all  the  soldiers 
we  can  find."  We  spoke  up  quickly  and  said,  "Thank  you, 
thank  you,  young  ladies,"  and  I  picked  out  the  prettiest  one  and 
said,  "Please  take  my  arm,"  which  she  did,  and  Hughes  did  the 
same  with  the  other  one,  and  we  went  in  that  style  down  the 
street.  I  imagine  we  were  a  funny  looking  sight.  I  know  one 
thing,  I  felt  good  all  over,  and  as  proud  as  a  boy  with  his  first 
pants,  and  when  we  got  to  that  supper  room  those  young  ladies 
waited  on  us,  and  we  felt  as  grand  as  kings.  To  you,  ladies,  I 
say,  God  bless  you! 


Almost  every  soldier  in  the  army  —  generals,  colonels,  cap 
tains,  as  well  as  privates  —  had  a  nick-name  ;  and  I  almost  believe 
that  had  the  war  continued  ten  years,  we  would  have  forgotten 
our  proper  names.  John  T.  Tucker  was  called  "Sneak."  A.  S. 
Horsley  was  called  "Don  Yon  One  Horsley,"  W.  A.  Hughes  was 
called  "Apple  Jack,"  Green  Sieves  was  called  "Devil  Horse." 
the  surgeon  of  our  regiment  was  called  "Old  Snake,"  Bob  Brank 
was  called  "Count,"  the  colonel  of  the  Fourth  was  called  "Guide 
Post,"  E.  L.  Lansdown  was  called  "Left  Tenant,"  some  were 
called  by  the  name  of  "Greasy,"  some  "Buzzard,"  others  "Hog," 
and  "Brutus,"  and  "Cassius,"  and  "Csesar,"  "Left  Center,"  and 
"Bolderdust,"  and  "Old  Hannah  ;"  in  fact,  the  nick-names  were 
singular  and  peculiar,  and  when  a  man  got  a  nick-name  it  stuck 
to  him  like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea  did  to  the  shoulders  of  Sin- 
bad,  the  sailor. 

On  our  retreat  the  soldiers  got  very  thirsty  for  tobacco 
(they  always  used  the  word  thirsty),  and  they  would  sometimes 
come  across  an  old  field  off  which  the  tobacco  had  been  cut  and 


60  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

the  suckers  had  re-sprouted  from  the  old  stalk,  and  would  cut  off 
these  suckers  and  dry  them  by  the  fire  and  chew  them.  "Sneak" 
had  some  how  or  other  got  hold  of  a  plug  or  two,  and  knowing 
that  he  would  be  begged  for  a  chew,  had  cut  it  up  in  little  bits  of 
pieces  about  one-fourth  of  a  chew.  Some  fellow  would  say, 
"Sneak,  please  give  me  a  chew  of  tobacco."  Sneak  would  say, 
"I  don't  believe  I  have  a  piece  left,"  and  then  he  would  begin  to 
feel  in  his  pockets.  He  would  pull  that  hand  out  and  feel  in 
another  pocket,  and  then  in  his  coat  pockets,  and  hid  away  down 
in  an  odd  corner  of  his  vest  pocket  he  would  accidentally  find  a 
little  chew>  just  big  enough  to  make  "spit  come."  Sneak  had 
his  pockets  full  all  the  time.  The  boys  soon  found  out  his  in- 
uendoes  and  subterfuges,  but  John  would  all  the  time  appear  as 
innocent  of  having  tobacco  as  a  pet  lamb  that  has  just  torn  down 
a  nice  vine  that  you  were  so  careful  in  training  to  run  over  the 
front  porch.  Ah,  John,  don't  deny  it  now ! 

I  JINE  THE  CAVALRY. 

When  we  got  to  Charleston,  on  the  Hiwassee  river,  there 
we  found  the  First  Tennessee  Cavalry  and  Ninth  Battalion, 
both  of  which  had  been  made  up  principally  in  Maury  county, 
and  we  knew  all  the  boys.  We  had  a  good  old-fashioned  hand 
shaking  all  around.  Then  I  wanted  to  "jine  the  cavalry." 
Captain  Asa  G.  Freeman  had  an  extra  horse,  and  I  got  on  him 
and  joined  the  cavalry  for  several  days,  but  all  the  time  some 
passing  cavalryman  would  make  some  jocose  remark  about  "Here 
is  a  webfoot  who  wants  to  jine  the  cavalry,  and  has  got  a  bayonet 
on  his  gun  and  a  knapsack  on  his  back."  I  felt  like  I  had  got 
into  the  wrong  pen,  but  anyhow  I  got  to  ride  all  of  three  days. 
I  remember  that  Mr.  Willis  B.  Embry  gave  me  a  five-pound 
package  of  Kallickanick  smoking  tobacco,  for  which  I  was  very 
grateful.  I  think  he  was  quartermaster  of  the  First  Tennessee 
Cavalry,  and  as  good  a  man  and  as  clever  a  person  as  I  ever 
knew.  JSTone  knew  him  but  to  love  him.  I  was  told  that  he 
was  killed  by  a  lot  of  Yankee  soldiers  after  he  had  surrendered 
to  them,  all  the  time  begging  for  his  life,  asking  them  please  not 
kill  him.  But  He  that  noteth  the  sparrow's  fall  doeth  all  things 
well.  Not  one  ever  falls  to  the  ground  with  His  consent. 


MURFREESBORO.  61 


CHAPTEK  VI.— MURFREESBORO. 

MUEFEEESBOEO. 

We  came  from  Knoxville  to  Chattanooga,  and  seemed  des 
tined  to  make  a  permanent  stay  here.  We  remained  several 
months,  but  soon  we  were  on  the  tramp  again. 

From  Chattanooga,  Bragg' s  army  went  to  Murfreesboro. 

The  Federal  army  was  concentrating  at  Nashville.  There 
was  no  rest  for  the  weary.  Marches  and  battles  were  the  order 
of  the  day. 

Our  army  stopped  at  Murfreesboro.  Our  advanced  outpost 
was  established  at  Lavergne.  From  time  to  time  different  regi 
ments  were  sent  forward  to  do  picket  duty.  I  was  on  picket  at 
the  time  the  advance  was  made  by  Rosecrans.  At  the  time  men 
tioned,  I  was  standing  about  two  hundred  yards  off  the  road, 
the  main  body  of  the  pickets  being  on  the  Nashville  and  Mur 
freesboro  turnpike,  and  commanded  by  Lieutenant  Hardy  Mur- 
f ree^  of  the  Rutherford  Rifles. 

I  had  orders  to  allow  no  one  to  pass.  In  fact,  no  one  was 
expected  to  pass  at  this  point,  but  while  standing  at  my  post,  a 
horseman  rode  up  behind  me.  I  halted  him,  and  told  him  to  go 
down  to  the  main  picket  on  the  road  and  pass,  but  he  seemed  so 
smiling  that  I  thought  he  knew  me,  or  had  a  good  joke  to  tell  me. 
He  advanced  up,  and  pulling  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  his  pocket, 
handed  it  to  me  to  read.  It  was  an  order  from  General  Leonidas 
Polk  to  allow  the  bearer  to  pass.  I  read  it,  and  looked  up  to 
hand  it  back  to  him,  when  I  discovered  that  he  had  a  pistol 
cocked  and  leveled  in  my  face,  and  says  he,  "Drop  that  gun ;  you 
are  my  prisoner."  I  saw  there  was  no  use  in  fooling  about  it. 
I  knew  if  I  resisted  he  would  shoot  me,  and  I  thought  then  that 
he  was  about  to  perform  that  detestable  operation.  I  dropped 
the  gun. 

I  did  not  wish  to  spend  my  winter  in  a  Northern  prison, 


O-fi  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

and  what  was  worse,  I  would  be  called  a  deserter  from  my  post 
of  duty. 

The  Yankee  picket  lines  were  not  a  half  mile  off.  I  was 
perfectly  willing  to  let  the  spy  go  on  his  way  rejoicing — for  such 
he  was — but  he  wanted  to  capture  a  Rebel. 

And  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  think  likewise.  There  I 
was,  a  prisoner  sure,  and  no  mistake  about  it. 

II is  pistol  was  leveled,  and  I  was  ordered  to  march.  I  was 
afraid  to  halloo  to  the  relief,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  was  in  a 
bad  fix. 

Finally  says  I,  "Let's  play  quits.  I  think  you  are  a  sol 
dier  ;  you  look  like  a  gentleman.  I  am  a  videt ;  you  know  the 
responsibility  resting  on  me.  You  go  your  way,  and  leave  me 
here.  Is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

Says  he,  "I  would  not  trust  a  Secesh  on  his  word,  oath,  or 
bond.  March,  I  say." 

I  soon  found  out  that  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  relief  on 
the  road,  and  was  afraid  to  shoot.  I  quickly  made  up  my  mind. 
My  gun  was  at  my  feet,  and  one  step  would  get  it.  I  made  a 
quick  glance  over  my  shoulder,  and  grabbed  at  my  gun.  He 
divined  my  motive,  and  fired.  The  ball  missed  its  aim.  He 
put  spurs  to  his  horse,  but  I  pulled  down  on  him,  and  almost 
tore  the  fore  shoulder  of  his  horse  entirely  off,  but  I  did  not  cap 
ture  the  spy,  though  I  captured  the  horse,  bridle  and  saddle. 
Major  Allen,  of  the  Twenty-seventh  Tennessee  Regiment,  took 
the  saddle  and  bridle,  and  gave  me  the  blanket.  I  remember 
the  blanket  had  the  picture  of  a  "big  lion"  on  it,  and  it  was  al 
most  new.  When  we  fell  back,  as  the  Yankee  sharpshooters 
advanced,  we  left  the  poor  old  horse  nipping  the  short,  dry  grass. 
I  saw  a  Yankee  skirmisher  run  up  and  grab  the  horse  and  give  a 
whoop  as  if  he  had  captured  a  Rebel  horse.  But  they  continued 
to  advance  upon  us,  we  firing  and  retreating  slowly.  We  had 
several  ^  *etty  sharp  brushes  with  them  that  day.  I  remember 
that  they  had  to  cross  an  open  field  in  our  front,  and  we  were 
lying  behind  a  fence,  and  as  they  advanced,  we  kept  up  firing, 
and  would  run  them  back  every  time,  until  they  brought  up  a 
regiment  that  whooped,  and  yelled,  and  charged  our  skirmish 


MURFREESBORO.  OO 

line,  and  then  we  fell  back  again.  I  think  we  must  have  killed 
a  good  many  in  the  old  field,  because  we  were  firing  all  the  time 
at  the  solid  line  as  they  advanced  upon  us. 

BATTLE  OF  MURFREESBORO. 

The  next  day,  the  Yankees  were  found  out  to  be  advancing. 
Soon  they  came  in  sight  of  our  picket.  We  kept  falling  back 
and  firing  all  day,  and  were  relieved  by  another  regiment  about 
dark.  We  rejoined  our  regiment.  Line  of  battle  was  formed 
on  the  north  bank  of  Stone's  River — on  the  Yankee  side.  Bad 
generalship,  I  thought. 

It  was  Christmas.  John  Barleycorn  was  general-in-chief. 
Our  generals,  and  colonels,  and  captains,  had  kissed  John  a  lit 
tle  too  often.  They  couldn't  see  straight.  It  was  said  to  be 
buckeye  whisky.  They  couldn't  tell  our  own  men  from  Yan 
kees.  The  private  could,  but  he  was  no  general,  you  see.  But 
here  they  were — the  Yankees — a  battle  had  to  be  fought.  We 
were  ordered  forward.  I  was  on  the  skirmish  line.  We 
marched  plumb  into  the  Yankee  lines,  with  their  flags  flying. 

I  called  Lieutenant-Colonel  Frierson's  attention  to  the  Yan 
kees,  and  he  remarked,  "Well,  I  don't  know  whether  they  are 
Yankees  or  not,  but  if  they  are,  they  will  come  out  of  there 
mighty  quick." 

The  Yankees  marched  over  the  hill  out  of  sight. 

We  were  ordered  forward  to  the  attack.  We  were  right 
upon  the  Yankee  line  on  the  Wilkerson  turnpike.  The  Yankees 
were  shooting  our  men  down  by  scores.  A  universal  cry  was 
raised,  "You  are  firing  on  your  own  men."  "Cease  firing,  cease 
firing,"  I  hallooed ;  in  fact,  the  whole  skirmish  line  hallooed,  and 
kept  on  telling  them  that  they  were  Yankees,  and  to  shoot ;  but 
the  order  was  to  cease  firing,  you  are  firing  on  your  own  men. 

Captain  James,  of  Chea4;ham's  staff,  was  sent  forward  and 
killed  in  his  own  yard.  We  were  not  twenty  yards  off  from  the 
Yankees,  and  they  were  pouring  the  hot  shot  and  shells  right 
into  our  ranks ;  and  every  man  was  yelling  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  "Cease  firing,  you  are  firing  on  your  own  men ;  cease  fir 
ing,  yo.u  are  firing  on  your  own  men." 

Oakley,  color-bearer  of  the  Fourth  Tennessee  Regiment,  ran 


CO.  H.,  FIBST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

right  up  in  the  midst  of  the  Yankee  line  with  his  colors,  begging 
his  men  to  follow.  I  hallooed  till  I  was  hoarse,  "They  are  Yan 
kees,  they  are  Yankees ;  shoot,  they  are  Yankees." 

The  crest  occupied  by  the  Yankees  was  belching  loud  with 
fire  and  smoke,  and  the  Rebels  were  falling  like  leaves  of  autumn 
in  a  hurricane.  The  leaden  hail  storm  swept  them  off  the  field. 
They  fell  back  and  re-formed.  General  Cheatham  came  up  and 
advanced.  I  did  not  fall  back,  but  continued  to  load  and  shoot, 
until  a  fragment  of  a  shell  struck  me  on  the  arm,  and  then  a 
minnie  ball  passed  through  the  same,  paralyzing  my  arm,  and 
wounded  and  disabled  me.  General  Cheatham,  all  the  time,  was 
calling  on  the  men  to  go  forward,  saying,  "Come  on,  boys,  and 
follow  me." 

The  impression  that  General  Frank  Cheatham  made  upon 
my  mind,  leading  the  charge  on  the  Wilkerson  turnpike,  I  will 
never  forget.  I  saw  either  victory  or  death  written  on  his  face. 
AVhen  I  saw  him  leading  our  brigade,  although  I  was  wounded 
at  the  time,  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  he  seemed  so  earnest  and  con 
cerned,  and  as  he  was  passing  me  I  said,  "Well,  General,  if  you 
are  determined  to  die,  I'll  die  with  you."  We  were  at  that  time 
at  least  a  hundred  yards  in  advance  of  the  brigade,  Cheatham  all 
the  time  calling  upon  the  men  to  come  on.  He  was  leading  the 
charge  in  person.  Then  it  was  that  I  saw  the  power  of  one  man, 
born  to  command,  over  a  multitude  of  men  then  almost  routed 
and  demoralized.  I  saw  and  felt  that  he  was  not  fighting  for 
glory,  but  that  he  was  fighting  for  his  country,  because  he  loved 
that  country,  and  he  was  willing  to  give  his  life  for  his  country 
and  the  success  of  our  cause.  He  deserves  a  wreath  of  immor 
tality,  and  a  warm  place  in  every  Southron's  heart,  for  his  brave 
and  glorious  example  on  that  bloody  battlefield  of  Murf  reesboro. 
Yes,  his  history  will  ever  shine  in  beauty  and  grandeur  as  a 
name  among  the  brightest  in  all  the  galaxy  of  leaders  in  the  his 
tory  of  our  cause. 

!N"ow,  another  fact  I  will  state,  and  that  is,  when  the  private 
soldier  was  ordered  to  charge  and  capture  the  twelve  pieces  of 
artillery,  heavily  supported  by  infantry,  Maney's  brigade-  raised 
a  whoop  and  yell,  and  swooped  down  on  those  Yankees  like  a 


MUKFRfiESBOKO.  65 

whirl-a-gust  of  woodpeckers  in  a  hail  storm,  paying  the  blue- 
coated  rascals  back  with  compound  interest;  for  when  they  did 
come,  every  man's  gun  was  loaded,  and  they  marched  upon  the 
blazing  crest  in  solid  file;  and  when  they  did  fire,  there  was  a 
sudden  lull  in  the  storm  of  battle,  because  the  Yankees  were 
nearly  all  killed.  I  cannot  remember  now  of  ever  seeing  more 
dead  men  and  horses  and  captured  cannon,  all  jumbled  together, 
than  that  scene  of  blood  and  carnage  and  battle  on  the  Wilkerson 
turnpike.  The  ground  was  literally  covered  with  blue  coats 
dead ;  and,  if  I  remember  correctly,  there  were  eighty  dead 
horses. 

By  this  time  our  command  had  re-formed,  and  charged  the 
blazing  crest. 

The  spectacle  was  grand.  With  cheers  and  shouts  they 
charged  up  the  hill,  shooting  down  and  bayoneting  the  flying 
cannoneers,  General  Cheatham,  Colonel  Field  and  Joe  Lee  cut 
ting  and  slashing  with  their  swords.  The  victory  was  complete. 
The  whole  left  wing  of  the  Federal  army  was  driven  back  five 
miles  from  their  original  position.  Their  dead  and  wounded 
were  in  our  lines,  and  we  had  captured  many  pieces  of  artillery, 
small  arms,  and  prisoners. 

When  I  was  wounded,  the  shell  and  shot  that  struck  me. 
knocked  me  winding.  I  said,  "O,  O,  I'm  wounded,"  and  at  the 
same  time  I  grabbed  my  arm.  I  thought  it  had  been  torn  from 
my  shoulder.  The  brigade  had  fallen  back  about  two  hundred 
yards,  when  General  Cheatham' s  presence  reassured  them,  and 
they  soon  were  in  line  and  ready  to  follow  so  brave  and  gallant  a 
leader,  and  had  that  order  of  acease  firing,  you  are  firing  on  your 
own  men,"  not  been  given,  Maney's  brigade  would  have  had  the 
honor  of  capturing  eighteen  pieces  of  artillery,  and  ten  thousand 
prisoners.  This  I  do  know  to  be  a  fact. 

As  I  went  back  to  the  field  hospital,  I  overtook  another  man 
walking  along.  I  do  not  know  to  what  regiment  he  belonged,  but 
I  remember  of  first  noticing  that  his  left  arm  was  entirely  gone. 
His  face  was  as  white  as  a  sheet.  The  breast  and  sleeve  of  his 
coat  had  been  torn  away,  and  I  could  see  the  frazzled  end  of  his 
shirt  sleeve,  which  appeared  to  be  sucked  into  the  wound.  I 


66  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

looked  at  it  pretty  close,  and  I  said  "Great  God !"  for  I  could  see 
his  heart  throb,  and  the  respiration  of  his  lungs.  I  was  filled 
with  wonder  and  horror  at  the  sight.  He  was  walking  along, 
when  all  at  once  he  dropped  down  and  died  without  a  struggle  or 
a  groan.  I  could  tell  of  hundreds  of  such  incidents  of  the  battle 
field,  but  tell  only  this  one,  because  I  remember  it  so  distinctly. 

ROBBING  A  DEAD  YANKEE. 

In  passing  over  the  battlefield,  I  came  across  a  dead  Yankee 
colonel.  He  had  on  the  finest  clothes  I  ever  saw,  a  red  sash  and 
fine  sword.  I  particularly  noticed  his  boots.  I  needed  them, 
and  had  made  up  my  mind  to  wear  them  out  for  him.  But  I 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  wearing  dead  men's  shoes.  I  took 
hold  of  the  foot  and  raised  it  up  and  made  one  trial  at  the  boot 
to  get  it  off.  I  happened  to  look  up,  and  the  colonel  had  his 
eyes  wide  open,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  at  me.  He  was  stone 
dead,  but  I  dropped  that  foot  quick.  It  was  my  first  and  last 
attempt  to  rob  a  dead  Yankee. 

After  the  battle  was  over  at  Murf reesboro,  that  night,  John 
Tucker  and  myself  thought  that  we  would  investigate  the  con 
tents  of  a  fine  brick  mansion  in  our  immediate  front,  but  between 
our  lines  and  the  Yankees',  and  even  in  advance  of  our  videts 
Before  we  arrived  at  the  house  we  saw  a  body  of  Yankees  ap 
proaching,  and  as  we  started  to  run  back  they  fired  upon  us 
Our  pickets  had  run  in  and  reported  a  night  attack.  We  ran 
forward,  expecting  that  our  men  would  recognize  us,  but  they 
opened  fire  upon  us.  I  never  was  as  bad  scared  in  all  my  whole 
life,  and  if  any  poor  devil  ever  prayed  with  fervency  and  true 
piety,  I  did  it  on  that  occasion.  I  thought,  "I  am  between  two 
fires."  I  do  not  think  that  a  flounder  or  pancake  was  half  as  flat 
as  I  was  that  night ;  yea,  it  might  be  called  in  music,  low  flat. 


SHELBYVILLE.  67 


CHAPTER  VII.— SHELBYVILLE. 

SHELBYVILLE. 

It  is  a  bad  thing  for  an  army  to  remain  too  long  at  one 
place.  The  men  soon  become  discontented  and  unhappy,  and 
we  had  no  diversion  or  pastime  except  playing  poker  and  chuck- 
a-luck.  All  the  money  of  the  regiment  had  long  ago  been  spent, 
but  grains  of  corn  represented  dollars,  and  with  these  we  would 
play  as  earnestly  and  as  zealously  as  if  they  were  so  much 
money,  sure  enough. 

A  FOOT  RACE. 

One  of  those  amusing  episodes  that  frequently  occur  in  the 
army,  happened  at  this  place.  A  big  strapping  fellow  by  the 
name  of  Tennessee  Thompson,  always  carried  bigger  burdens 
than  any  other  five  men  in  the  army.  For  example,  he  carried 
two  quilts,  three  blankets,  one  gum  oil  cloth,  one  overcoat,  one 
axe,  one  hatchet,  one  camp-kettle,  one  oven  and  lid,  one  coffee 
pot,  besides  his  knapsack,  haversack,  canteen,  gun,  cartridge-box, 
and  three  days'  rations.  He  was  a  rare  bird,  anyhow.  Tennes 
see  usually  had  his  hair  cut  short  on  one  side  and  left  long  on  the 
other,  so  that  he  could  give  his  head  a  bow  and  a  toss  and  throw 
the  long  hairs  over  on  the  other  side,  and  it  would  naturally  part 
itself  without  a  comb.  Tennessee  was  the  wit  and  good  nature 
of  the  company ;  always  in  a  good  humor,  and  ever  ready  to  do 
any  duty  when  called  upon.  In  fact,  I  would  sometimes  get  out 
of  heart  and  low  spirited,  and  would  hunt  up  Tennessee  to  have  a 
little  fun.  His  bye-word  was  "Bully  for  Bragg;  he's  hell  on 
retreat,  and  will  whip  the  Yankees  yet."  He  was  a  good  and 
brave  soldier,  and  followed  the  fortunes  of  Company  H  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end. 

Well,  one  day  he  and  Billy  Webster  bet  twenty-five  dollars, 
put  up  in  Bill  Martin's  hands,  as  to  which  could  run  the  faster. 
John  Tucker,  Joe  Lee,  Alf.  Horsley  and  myself  were  appointed 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

judges.  The  distance  was  two  hundred  yards.  The  ground  was 
measured  off,  and  the  judges  stationed.  Tennessee  undressed 
himself,  even  down  to  his  stocking  feet,  tied  a  red  handkerchief 
around  his  head,  and  another  one  around  his  waist,  and  walked 
deliherately  down  the  track,  eyeing  every  little  rock  and  stick 
and  removing  them  off  the  track.  Comes  back  to  the  starting 
point  and  then  goes  down  the  track  in  half  canter;  returns  again 
his  eyes  flashing,  his  nostrils  dilated,  looking  the  impersonation 
of  the  champion  courser  of  the  world ;  makes  two  or  three  appar 
ently  false  starts;  turns  a  somersault  by  placing  his  head  on 
the  ground  and  flopping  over  on  his  back ;  gets  up  and  whickers 
like  a  horse ;  goes  half -hammered,  hop,  step,  and  jump — he  says, 
to  loosen  up  his  joints — scratches  up  the  ground  with  his  hands 
and  feet,  flops  his  arms  and  crows  like  a  rooster,  and  says,  "Bully 
for  Bragg;  he's  hell  on  a  retreat,"  and  announces  his  readiness. 
The  drum  is  tapped,  and  off  they  start.  Well,  Billy  Webster 
beat  him  one  hundred  yards  in  the  two  hundred,  and  Tennessee 
came  back  and  said,  "Well,  boys,  I'm  beat ;  Billy  Martin,  hand 
over  the  stakes  to  Billy  Webster.  I'm  beat,  but  hang  me  if  I 
didn't  outrun  the  whole  Yankee  army  coming  out  of  Kentucky ; 
got  away  from  Lieutenant  Lansdown  and  the  whole  detail  at 
Chattanooga  with  half  a  hog,  a  fifty  pound  sack  of  flour,  a  jug 
of  Meneesee  commissary  whisky,  and  a  camp-kettle  full  of  brown 
sugar.  I'm  beat.  Billy  Martin,  hand  over  the  stakes.  Bully 
for  Bragg ;  he's  hell  on  a  retreat."  Tennessee  was  trying  bluff. 
He  couldn't  run  worth  a  cent ;  but  there  was  no  braver  or  truer 
man  ever  drew  a  ramrod  or  tore  a  cartridge  than  Tennessee. 

EATING  MUSSELS. 

Reader,  did  you  ever  eat  a  mussel  ?  Well,  we  did,  at  Shel- 
byville.  We  were  camped  right  upon  the  bank  of  Duck  river, 
and  one  day  Fred  Dornin,  Ed  Voss,  Andy  Wilson  and  I  went  in 
the  river  mussel  hunting.  Every  one  of  us  had  a  meal  sack. 
We  would  feel  down  with  our  feet  until  we  felt  a  mussel  and  then 
dive  for  it.  We  soon  filled  our  sacks  with  mussels  in  their  shells. 
When  we  got  to  camp  we  cracked  the  shells  and  took  out  the 
mussels.  We  tried  frying  them,  but  the  longer  they  fried  the 
tougher  they  got.  They  were  a  little  too  large  to  swallow  whole. 


SHELBYVILLE.  69 

Then  we  stewed  them,  and  after  a  while  we  boiled  them,  and  then 
we  baked  them,  but  every  flank  movement  we  would  make  on 
those  mussels  the  more  invulnerable  they  would  get.  We  tried 
cutting  them  up  with  a  hatchet,  but  they  were  so  slick  and  tough 
the  hatchet  would  not  cut  them.  Well,  we  cooked  them,  and 
buttered  them,  and  salted  them,  and  peppered  them,  and  battered 
them.  They  looked  good,  and  smelt  good,  and  tasted  good  ;  at 
least  the  fixings  we  put  on  them  did,  and  we  ate  the  mussels.  I 
went  to  sleep  that  night.  I  dreamed  that  my  stomach  was  four 
grindstones,  and  that  they  turned  in  four  directions,  according 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth.  I  awoke  to  hear  four  men  yell 
out,  "O,  save,  O,  save  me  from  eating  any  more  mussels  !" 


BERRY   MORGAN. 

One  of  those  sad,  unexpected  affairs,  that  remind  the  living 
that  even  in  life  we  are  in  the  midst  of  death,  happened  at  Shel 
by  vi  lie.  Our  regiment  had  been  out  to  the  front,  on  duty,  and 
was  returning  to  camp.  It  was  nearly  dark,  and  we  saw  a  black 
wind  cloud  rising.  The  lightning's  flash  and  the  deep  muttering 
thunders  warned  us  to  seek  shelter  as  speedily  as  possible.  Some 
of  us  ran  in  under  the  old  depot  shed,  and  soon  the  storm  struck 
us.  It  was  a  tornado  that  made  a  track  through  the  woods  be 
yond  Shelby  ville,  and  right  through  the  town,  and  we  could  fol 
low  its  course  for  miles  where  it  had  blown  down  the  timber, 
twisting  and  piling  it  in  every  shape.  Berry  Morgan  and  I  had 
over  been  close  friends,  and  we  threw  down  our  blankets  and 
were  lying  side  by  side,  when  I  saw  roofs  of  houses,  sign  boards, 
and  brickbats  flying  in  every  direction.  Nearly  half  of  the  town 
was  blown  away  in  the  storm.  While  looking  at  the  storm  with 
out,  I  felt  the  old  shed  suddenly  jar  and  tremble,  and  suddenly 
become  unroofed,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  ten  thousand  brick 
bats  had  fallen  in  around  us.  I  could  hear  nothing  for  the  roar 
ing  of  the  storm,  and  could  see  nothing  for  the  blinding  rain  and 
flying  dirt  and  bricks  and  other  rubbish.  The  storm  lasted  but 
a  few  minutes,  but  those  minutes  seemed  ages.  When  it  had 
passed,  I  turned  to  look  at  "poor  Berry."  Poor  fellow  !  his  head 
Avas  crushed  in  by  a  brickbat,  his  breast  crushed  in  by  another, 
and  I  think  his  arm  was  broken,  and  he  was  otherwise  mutilated. 


70 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


It  was  a  sad  sight.  Many,  others  of  our  regiment  were  wounded. 
Berry  was  a  very  handsome  boy.  He  was  what  everybody 
would  call  a  "pretty  man."  He  had  fair  skin,  blue  eyes,  and 
fine  curly  hair,  which  made  him  look  like  an  innocent  child.  I 
loved  Berry.  He  was  my  friend — as  true  as  the  needle  to  the 
pole.  But  God,  who  doeth  all  things  well,  took  his  spirit  in  the 
midst  of  the  storm  to  that  beautiful  home  beyond  the  skies.  I 
thank  God  I  am  no  infidel.  We  will  meet  again. 

WEIGHT  SHOT  TO  DEATH  WITH  MUSKETRY. 

I  saw  a  young  boy  about  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  old, 
by  the  name  of  Wright,  and  belonging  to  General  Marcus  J. 
Wright's  brigade,  bhot  to  death  with  musketry  at  this  place. 
The  whole  of  Cheatham's  division  had  to  march  out  and  witness 
the  horrid  scene.  Xow,  I  have  no  doubt  that  many,  if  not  all. 
would  have  gone  without  being  forced  to  do  so,  but  then  you 
know  that  was  Bragg' s  style.  He  wanted  always  to  display  his 
tyranny,  and  to  intimidate  his  privates  as  much  as  possible. 
The  young  man  was  hauled  in  a  wagon,  sitting  on  his  coffin,  to 
the  place  where  the  grave  was  to  be  dug,  and  a  post  was  planted 
in  the  ground.  He  had  to  sit  there  for  more  than  two  hours, 
looking  on  at  the  preparations  for  his  death.  I  went  up  to  the 
wagon,  like  many  others,  to  have  a  look  at  the  doomed  man.  He 
had  his  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  and  was  busily  picking  at 
the  ends  of  his  fingers.  The  guard  who  then  had  him  in  charge 
told  me  that  one  of  the  culprit's  own  brothers  was  one  of  the 
detail  to  shoot  him.  I  went  up  to  the  wagon  and  called  him, 
"Wright !"  He  made  no  reply,  and  did  not  even  look  up.  Then 
I  said,  "Wright,  why  don't  you  jump  oui  of  that  wagon  and 
run?"  He  was  callous  to  everything.  I  was  sorry  for  him 
When  the  division  was  all  assembled,  and  the  grave  dug,  and  the 
post  set,  he  was  taken  out  of  the  wagon,  and  tied  to  the  post. 
He  was  first  tied  facing  the  post,  and  consequently  would  have 
been  shot  in  the  back,  but  was  afterwards  tied  with  his  back  to 
the  post.  The  chaplain  of  the  regiment  read  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible,  sang  a  hymn,  and  then  all  knelt  down  and  prayed. 
General  Wright  went  up  to  the  pinioned  man,  shook  hands  with 
him,  and  told  him  good-bye,  as  did  many  others,  and  then  the 


SHELBY  VILLB.  71 

shooting  detail  cam©  up,  and  the  officer  in  charge  gave  the  com 
mand,  "Ready,  aim,  fire !"  The  crash  of  musketry  broke  upon 
the  morning  air.  I  was  looking  at  Wright.  I  heard  him  almost 
shriek,  "O,  O,  God !"  His  head  dropped  forward,  the  rope  with 
which  he  was  pinioned  keeping  him  from  falling.  I  turned 
away  and  thought  how  long,  how  long  will  I  have  to  witness  these 
things  ? ' 

DAVE   SUBLETT   PROMOTED. 

While  at  Shelbyville,  a  vacancy  occurring  in  Captain  Led- 
better's  company,  the  Rutherford  Rifles,  for  fourth  corporal, 
Dave  Sublett  became  a  candidate  for  the  position.  Now,  Dave 
was  a  genius.  He  was  a  noble  and  brave  fellow,  and  at  one  time 
had  been  a  railroad  director.  He  had  a  distinguished  air 
always  about  him,  but  Dave  had  one  fault,  and  that  was,  he  was 
ever  prone  to  get  tight.  He  had  been  a  Union  man,  and  even 
now  he  always  had  a  good  word  for  the  Union.  He  was  sin 
cere,  but  eccentric.  The  election  for  fourth  corporal  was  draw 
ing  nigh.  Dave  sent  off  and  got  two  jugs  of  spirits  vini  fru- 
menti,  and  treated  the  boys.  Of  course,  his  vote  would  be  solid. 
Every  man  in  that  company  was  going  to  cast  his  vote  for  him. 
Dave  got  happy  and  wanted  to  make  a  speech.  He  went  to  the 
butcher's  block  which  was  used  to  cut  up  meat  on — he  called  it 
Butchers7  Hall — got  upon  it  amid  loud  cheering  and  hurrahs  of 
the  boys.  He  spoke  substantially  as  follows : 

"Fellow  Citizens — I  confess  that  it  is  with  feelings  of  diffi 
dence  and  great  embarrassment  on  my  part  that  I  appear  before 
you  on  this  occasion.  But,  gentlemen  and  fellow-citizens,  I 
desire  to  serve  you  in  an  humble  capacity,  as  fourth  corporal  of 
Company  I.  Should  you  see  cause  to  elect  me,  no  heart  will 
beat  with  more  gratitude  than  my  own.  Gentlemen,  you  well 
know  that  I  was  ever  a  Union  man : 

"  'A  union  of  lakes,  and  a  union  of  lands, 

A  union  that  no  one  can  sever; 
A  union  of  hearts,  and  a  union  of  hands, 
A  glorious  union  forever.' 

[Cheers  and  applause.] 

"Fellow-citizens,  I  can  look  through  the  dim  telescope  of 


72  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

the  past  and  see  Kansas,  bleeding  Kansas,  coming  like  a  fair 
young  bride,  dressed  in  her  bridal  drapery,  her  cheek  wet  and 
moistened  with  the  tears  of  love.  I  can  see  her  come  and  knock 
gently  at  the  doors  of  the  Union,  asking  for  admittance.  [Wild 
cheering.]  Looking  further  back,  I  can  see  our  forefathers  of 
the  revolution  baring  their  bosoms  to  the  famine  of  a  seven 
years'  war,  making  their  own  bosoms  a  breastwork  against  the 
whole  hosts  of  King  George  III.  But,  gentlemen,  as  I  before 
remarked,  I  desire  to  ask  at  your  hands  the  high,  distinguished 
and  lucrative  office,  my  fellow-citizens,  and  for  which  I  will  ever 
feel  grateful — the  office  of  fourth  corporal  in  your  company." , 
[Cheers.] 

Now,  Dave  had  a  competitor  who  was  a  states'  rights  demo 
crat.  If  I  mistake  not,  his  name  was  Frank  Haliburton.  Now, 
Frank  was  an  original  secessionist.  He  felt  that  each  state  waa 
a  separate,  sovereign  government  of  itself,  and  that  the  South 
had  the  same  rights  in  the  territories  as  they  of  the  North.  He 
wais  fighting  for  secession  and  state  rights  upon  principle. 
When  Sublett  had  finished  his  speech,  Frank  took  the  stand  and 
said : 

"Gentlemen  and  Fellow-Citizens — I  am  a  candidate  for 
fourth  corporal,  and  if  you  will  elect  me  I  will  be  grateful,  and 
will  serve  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  My  competitor  seems  to 
harp  considerably  upon  his  Union  record,  and  Union  love.  If  I 
mistake  not,  my  fellow-citizens,  it  was  old  George  McDuffie  that 
stood  up  in  the  senate  chamber  of  the  United  States  and  said, 
'When  I  hear  the  shout  of  "glorious  Union,"  methinks  I  hear  the 
shout  of  a  robber  gang.'  McDuffie  saw  through  his  prophetic 
vision  the  evils  that  would  result,  and  has  foretold  them  as  if  by 
inspiration  from  above. 

"Fellow-citizens,  under  the  name  of  Union  our  country  is 
invaded  to-day. 

"These  cursed  Yankees  are  invading  our  country,  robbing 
our  people,  and  desolating  our  land,  and  all  under  the  detestable 
and  damning  name  of  Union.  Our  representatives  in  congress 
have  been  fighting  them  for  fifty  years.  Compromise  after  com 
promise  has  been  granted  by  the  South.  We  have  used  every 


SHELBY  VILLE.  73 

effort  to  conciliate  those  at  the  North.  They  have  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  every  plea.  They  saw  our  country  rich  and  prosperous, 
and  have  come  indeed,  like  a  gang  of  robbers,  to  steal  our  prop 
erty  and  murder  our  people.  But,  fellow-citizens,  I  for  one  am 
ready  to  meet  them,  and  desire  that  you  elect  me  fourth  corporal 
of  Company  I,  so  that  I  can  serve  you  in  a  more  efficient  man 
ner,  while  we  meet  as  a  band  of  brothers,  the  cursed  horde  of 
Northern  Hessians  and  hirelings.  I  thank  you  for  your  atten 
tion,  gentlemen,  and  would  thank  you  for  your  votes." 

Well,  the  election  came  off,  and  Dave  was  elected  by  an 
overwhelming  majority.  But  the  high  eminence  of  military 
distinction  enthralled  him.  He  seemed  to  live  in  an  atmosphere 
of  greatness  and  glory,  and  was  looking  eagerly  forward  to  the 
time  when  he  would  command  armies.  He  had  begun  to  climb 
the  ladder  of  glory  under  most  favorable  and  auspicious  circum 
stances.  He  felt  his  consequence  and  keeping.  He  was  detailed 
once,  and  only  once,  to  take  command  of  the  third  relief  of  camp 
guard.  Ah,  this  thing  of  office  was  a  big  thing.  He  desired  to 
hold  a  council  of  war  with  Generals  Bragg,  Polk,  Hardee,  and 
Kirby  Smith.  He  first  visited  General  Polk.  His  war  metal 
was  up.  He  wanted  a  fight  just  then  and  there,  and  a  fight  he 
must  have,  at  all  hazards,  and  to  the  last  extremity.  He  became 
obstreperous,  when  General  Polk  called  a  guard  and  had  him 
marched  off  to  the  guard-house.  It  was  then  ordered  that  he 
should  do  extra  fatigue  duty  for  a  week.  The  guard  would  take 
him  to  the  woods  with  an  ax,  and  he  would  make  two  or  three 
chops  on  a  tree  and  look  up  at  it  and  say: 

"Woodman,   spare  that  tree;  touch  not  a  single  bough; 
In  youth  it  sheltered  me,   and  I'll  protect  it  now." 

He  would  then  go  to  another  tree ;  but  at  no  tree  would  he  make 
more  than  two  or  three  licks  before  he  would  go  to  another.  He 
would  hit  a  limb  and  then  a  log ;  would  climb  a  tree  and  cut  at  a 
limb  or  two,  and  keep  on  this  way  until  he  came  to  a  hard  old 
stump,  which  on  striking  his  ax  would  bound  and  spring  back. 
He  had  found  his  desire ;  the  top  of  that  stump  became  fun  and 
pleasure.  Well,  his  time  of  misdemeanor  expired  and  he  was 


74  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

relieved.  He  went  back  and  reported  to  Colonel  Field,  who 
informed  him  that  he  had  been  reduced  to  the  ranks.  lie  drew 
himself  up  to  his  full  height  and  said :  "Colonel,  I  regret  ex 
ceedingly  to  be  so  soon  deprived  of  my  new  fledged  honors  that  I 
have  won  on  so  many  a  hard  fought  and  bloody  battlefield,  but 
if  I  am  reduced  to  the  ranks  as  a  private  soldier,,  I  can  but  ex 
claim,  like  Moses  of  old,  when  he  crossed  the  Red  sea  in  defiance 
of  Pharaoh's  hosts,  'O,  how  the  mighty  have  fallen  !'  '  He  then 
marched  off  with  the  air  of  the  born  soldier. 

DOWN  DUCK  RIVER  IN  A  CANOE. 

ffOra  pro  nobis." 

At  this  place,  Duck  river  wended  its  way  to  Columbia.  On 
one  occasion  it  was  up — had  on  its  Sunday  clothes — a-booming. 
Andy  Wilson  and  I  thought  that  we  would  slip  off  and  go  down 
the  river  in  a  canoe.  We  got  the  canoe  and  started.  It  was  a 
leaky  craft.  We  had  not  gone  far  before  the  thing  capsized, 
and  we  swam  ashore.  But  we  were  outside  of  the  lines  now,  and 
without  passes.  (We  would  have  been  arrested  anyhow.)  So 
we  put  our  sand  paddles  to  work  and  landed  in  Columbia  that 
night.  I  loved  a  maid,  and  so  did  Andy,  and  some  poet  has  said 
that  love  laughs  at  grates,  bars,  locksmiths,  etc.  I  do  not  know 
how  true  this  is,  but  I  do  know  that  when  I  went  to  see  my  sweet 
heart  that  night  I  asked  her  to  pray  for  me,  because  I  thought 
the  prayers  of  a  pretty  woman  would  go  a  great  deal  further  "up 
yonder"  than  mine  would.  I  also  met  Cousin  Alice,  another 
beautiful  woman,  at  my  father's  front  gate,  and  told  her  that  she 
must  pray  for  me,  because  I  knew  I  would  be  court-martialed  as 
soon  as  I  got  back ;  that  I  had  no  idea  of  deserting  the  army  and 
only  wanted  to  see  the  maid  I  loved.  It  took  me  one  day  to  go 
to  Columbia  and  one  day  to  return,  and  I  stayed  at  home  only 
one  day,  and  went  back  of  my  own  accord.  When  I  got  back  to 
Shelbyville,  I  was  arrested  and  carried  to  the  guard-house,  and 
when  court-martialed  was  sentenced  to  thirty  days'  fatigue  duty 
and  to  forfeit  four  months'  pay  at  eleven  dollars  per  month,  mak 
ing  forty-four  dollars.  ISTow,  you  see  how  dearly  I  paid  for  that 
trip.  But,  fortunately  for  me,  General  Leonidas  Polk  has 


SHELBY  VILLE.  75 

issued  an  order  that  very  day  promising  pardon  to  all  soldiers 
absent  without  leave  if  they  would  return.  I  got  the  guard  to 
march  me  up  to  his  headquarters  and  told  him  of  my  predica 
ment,  and  he  ordered  my  release,  but  said  nothing  of  remitting; 
the  fine.  So  when  we  were  paid  off  at  Chattanooga  I  was  left 
out  The  Confederate  States  of  America  were  richer  by  forty- 
four  dollars. 

"SHENEKAL  OWLEYDOUSKY/' 

General  Owleydousky,  lately  imported  from  Poland,  was 
Bragg's  inspector  general.  I  remember  of  reading  in  the  news 
papers  of  where  he  tricked  Bragg  at  last.  The  papers  said  he 
stole  all  of  Bragg's  clothes  one  day  and  left  for  parts  unknown. 
It  is  supposed  he  went  back  to  Poland  to  act  as  "Ugh !  Big  In 
dian  ;•  fight  heap  mit  Bragg."  But  I  suppose  it  must  have  left 
Bragg  in  a  bad  fix — somewhat  like  Mr.  Jones,  who  went  to  ask 
the  old  folks  for  Miss  Willis.  On  being  told  that  she  was  a  very 
poor  girl,  and  had  no  property  for  a  start  in  life,  he  simply  said, 
"All  right ;  all  I  want  is  the  naked  girl." 

On  one  occasion,  while  inspecting  the  arms  and  accoutre 
ments  of  our  regiment,  when  he  came  to  inspect  Company  H  he 
said,  "Shentlemens,  vat  for  you  make  de  pothook  out  of  de 
sword  and  de  bayonet,  and  trow  de  cartridge-box  in  de  mud  ?  I 
dust  report  you  to  Sheneral  Bragg.  Mine  gracious!"  Ap 
proaching  Orderly  Sergeant  John  T.  Tucker,  and  lifting  the  flap 
of  his  cartridge  box,  which  was  empty,  he  said,  "Bah,  bah,  mon 
Dieu ;  I  dust  know  dot  you  ish  been  hunting  de  squirrel  and  de 
rabbit.  Mon  Dieu !  you  sharge  yourself  mit  fifteen  tollars  for 
wasting  sixty  cartridges  at  twenty-five  cents  apiece.  Bah,  bah. 
mon  Dieu ;  I  dust  report  you  to  Sheneral  Bragg."  Approach  ing 
Sergeant  A.  S.  Horsley,  he  said,  "Vy  ish  you  got  nodings  mit 
your  knapsack  ?  Sir,  you  must  have  somedings  mit  your  knap 
sack."  Alf  ran  into  his  tent  and  came  back  with  his  knapsack 
in  the  right  shape.  Well,  old  Owleydousky  thought  he  would 
be  smart  and  make  an  example  of  Alf,  and  said,  "I  vish  to  in 
spect  your  clodings."  He  took  Alf 's  knapsack  and  on  opening  it, 
what  do  you  suppose  was  in  it  ?  Well,  if  you  are  not  a  Yankee 
and  good  at  guessing,  I  will  tell  you,  if  you  won't  say  anything 


76  CO.  H.,  FIBST  TENNESSEE  BEGIMENT. 

about  it,  for  Alf  might  get  mad  if  he  were  to  hear  it.  He  found 
Webster's  Unabridged  Dictionary,  Cruden's  Concordance,  Mac- 
auley's  History  of  England,  Jean  Valjean,  Fantine,  Cosset,  Lea 
Miserables,  The  Heart  of  Midlothian,  Ivanhoe,  Guy  Mannering, 
Kob  Roy,  Shakespeare,  the  History  of  Ancient  Rome,  and  many 
others  which  I  have  now  forgotten.  He  carried  literature  for 
the  regiment.  He  is  in  the  same  old  business  yet,  only  now  he 
furnishes  literature  bv  the  car  load. 


CHAPTER  VIII.— CHATTANOOGA.  * 

BACK    TO   CHATTANOOGA. 

Rosecrans'  army  was  in  motion.  The  Federals  were  ad 
vancing,  but  as  yet  they  were  afar  off.  Chattanooga  must  be 
fortified.  Well  do  we  remember  the  hard  licks  and  picks  that 
we  spent  on  these  same  forts,  to  be  occupied  afterwards  by 
Grant  and  his  whole  army,  and  we  on  Lookout  Mountain  and 
Missionary  Ridge  looking  at  them. 

AM  VISITED  BY  MY  FATHER. 

About  this  time  my  father  paid  me  a  visit.  Rations  were 
mighty  scarce.  I  was  mighty  glad  to  see  him,  but  ashamed  to 
let  him  know  how  poorly  off  for  something  to  eat  we  were.  We 
Aver©  living  on  parched  corn.  I  thought  of  a  happy  plan  to  get 
him  a  good  dinner,  so  I  asked  him  to  let  us  go  up  to  the  colonel's 
tent.  Says  I,  "Colonel  Field,  I  desire  to  introduce  you  to  my 
father,  and  as  rations  are  a  little  short  in  my  mess,  I  thought  you 
might  have  a  little  better,  and  could  give  him  a  good  dinner." 
"Yes,"  says  Colonel  Field,  "I  am  glad  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  your  father,  and  will  be  glad  to  divide  my  rations  with  him. 


CHATTANOOGA.  77 

Also,  I  would  like  you  to  stay  and  take  dinner  with  me,"  which 
I  assure  you,  O  kind  reader,  I  gladly  accepted.  About  this  time 
a  young  African,  Whit,  came  in  with  a  frying-pan  of  parched 
corn  and  dumped  it  on  an  old  oil  cloth,  and  said,  "Master,  din 
ner  is  ready."  That  was  all  he  had.  He  was  living  like  our 
selves — on  parched  corn. 

We  continued  to  fortify  and  build  breatworks  at  Chatta 
nooga.  It  was  the  same  drudge,  drudge  day  by  day.  Occasion 
ally  a  Sunday  would  come;  but  when  it  did  come,  there  came 
inspection  of  arms,  knapsacks  and  cartridge-boxes.  Every  sol 
dier  had  to  have  his  gun  rubbed  up  as  bright  as  a  new  silver 
dollar.  W.  A.  Hughes  had  the  brightest  gun  in  the  army,  and 
always  called  it  "Florence  Fleming."  The  private  soldier  had 
to  have  on  clean  clothes,  and  if  he  had  lost  any  cartridges  he  was 
charged  twenty-five  cents  each,  and  had  to  stand  extra  duty  for 
every  cartridge  lost.  We  always  dreaded  Sunday.  The  roll 
was  called  more  frequently  on  this  than  any  other  day.  Some 
times  we  would  have  preaching.  I  remember  one  text  that  I 
thought  the  bottom  had  been  knocked  out  long  before:  "And 
Peter's  wife's  mother  lay  sick  of  fever."  That  text  always  did 
make  a  deep  impression  on  me.  I  always  thought  of  a  young 
divine  who  preached  it  when  first  entering  the  ministry,  and  in 
about  twenty  years  came  back,  and  happening  to  preach  from  the 
same  text  again,  an  old  fellow  in  the  congregation  said,  "Mr. 
Preacher,  ain't  that  old  woman  dead  yet  ?"  Well,  that  was  the 
text  that  was  preached  to  us  soldiers  one  Sunday  at  Chattanooga. 
I  could  not  help  thinking  all  the  time,  "Ain't  that  old  woman 
dead  yet  ?"  But  he  announced  that  he  would  preach  again  at  3 
o'clock.  We  went  to  hear  him  preach  at  3  o'clock,  as  his  sermon 
was  so  interesting  about  "Peter's  wife's  mother  lay  sick  of  a 
fever."  We  thought,  may  be  it  was  a  sort  of  sickly  subject,  and 
he  would  liven  us  up  a  little  in  the  afternoon  service. 

Well,  he  took  his  text,  drawled  out  through  his  nose  like 
"small  sweetness  long  drawn  out:"  "M-a-r-t-h-a,  thou  art 
w-e-a-r-i-e-d  and  troubled  about  many  things,  but  M-a-r-y  hath 
chosen  that  good  part  that  shall  never  be  taken  from  her."  Well, 
you  see,  O  gentle  and  fair  reader,  that  I  remember  the  text  these 


78  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  EEGIMENT. 

long  gone  twenty  years.  I  do  not  remember  what  he  preached 
about,  but  I  remember  thinking  that  he  was  a  great  ladies'  man, 
at  any  rate,  and  whenever  I  see  a  man  who  loves  and  respects  the 
ladies,  I  think  him  a  good  man. 

The  next  sermon  was  on  the  same  sort  of  a  text :  "And  the 
Lord  God  caused  a  deep  sleep  to  fall  on  Adam  and  took  out  of"— 
he  stopped  here  and  said  e  meant  out  of,  that  e,  being  translated 
from  the  Latin  and  Greek,  meant  out  of,  and  took  e,  or  rather 
out  of  a  rib  and  formed  woman.  I  never  did  know  why  he  ex- 
paciated  so  largely  on  e;  don't  understand  it  yet,  but  you  see, 
reader  mine,  that  I  remember  but  the  little  things  that  happened 
in  that  stormy  epoch.  I  remember  the  e  part  of  the  sermon  more 
distinctly  than  all  of  his  profound  eruditions  of  theology,  dog 
mas,  creeds  and  evidences  of  Christianity,  and  I  only  write  at 
this  time  from  memory  of  things  that  happened  twenty  years  ago. 

"OUT  A  LARKING/' 

At  this  place,  we  took  Walter  Hood  out  "a  larking."  The 
way  to  go  "a  larking"  is  this:  Get  an  empty  meal  bag  and 
about  a  dozen  men  and  go  to  some  dark  forest  or  open  field  on 
some  cold,  dark,  frosty  or  rainy  night,  about  five  miles  from 
camp.  Get  some  one  who  does  not  understand  the  game  to  hold 
the  bag  in  as  stooping  and  cramped  a  position  as  is  possible,  to 
keep  perfectly  still  and  quiet,  and  when  he  has  got  in  the  right 
fix,  the  others  to  go  off  to  drive  in  the  larks.  As  soon  as  they  get 
out  of  sight,  they  break  in  a  run  and  go  back  to  camp,  and  go  to 
sleep,  leaving  the  poor  fellow  all  the  time  holding  the  bag. 

Well,  Walter  was  as  good  and  as  clever  a  fellow  as  you  ever 
saw,  was  popular  with  everybody,  and  as  brave  and  noble  a  fellow 
as  ever  tore  a  cartridge,  or  drew  a  ramrod,  or  pulled  a  trigger, 
but  was  the  kind  of  a  boy  that  was  easily  "roped  in"  to  fun  or 
fight  or  anything  that  would  come  up.  We  all  loved  him.  Poor 
fellow,  he  is  up  yonder — died  on  the  field  of  glory  and  honor. 
He  gave  his  life,  'twas  all  he  had,  for  his  country.  Peace  to  his 
memory.  That  night  we  went  "a  larking,"  and  Walter  held  the 
bag.  I  did  not  see  him  till  netx  morning.  While  I  was  gulping 
down  my  coffee,  as  well  as  laughter,  Walter  came  around,  looking 
sort  of  sheepish  and  shy  like,  and  I  was  trying  to  look  as  solemn 


CHATTANOOGA.  79 

as  a  judge.  Finally  he  came  up  to  the  fije  and  kept  on  eyeing 
me  out  of  one  corner  of  his  eye,  and  I  was  afraid  to  look  at  him 
for  fear  of  breaking  out  in  a  laugh.  When  I  could  hold  in  no 
longer,  I  laughed  out,  and  said,  "Well,  Walter,  what  luck  last 
night  ?"  He  was  very  much  disgusted,  and  said,  "Humph !  you 
all  think  that  you  are  smart.  I  can't  see  anything  to  laugh  at  in 
such  foolishness  as  that."  He  said,  "Here ;  I  have  brought  your 
bag  back."  That  conquered  me.  After  that  kind  of  magnani 
mous  act  in  forgiving  me  and  bringing  my  bag  back  so  pleasantly 
and  kindly,  I  was  his  friend,  and  would  have  fought  for  him.  I 
felt  sorry  that  we  had  taken  him  out  "a  larking." 

HANGING  TWO  SPIES. 

I  can  now  recall  to  memory  but  one  circumstance  that  made 
a  deep  impression  on  my  mind  at  the  time.  I  heard  that  two 
spies  were  going  to  be  hung  on  a  certain  day,  and  I  went  to  the 
hanging.  The  scaffold  was  erected,  two  coffins  were  placed  on 
the  platform,  the  ropes  were  dangling  from  the  cross  beam  above. 
I  had  seen  men  shot,  and  whipped,  and  shaved,  and  branded  at 
Corinth  and  Tupelo,  and  one  poor  fellow  named  Wright  shot  at 
Shelbyville.  They  had  all  been  horrid  scenes  to  me,  but  they 
were  Kebels,  and  like  begets  like.  I  did  not  know  when  it  would 
be  my  time  to  be  placed  in  the  same  position,  you  see,  and  "a 
fellow  feeling  makes  us  wondrous  kind."  I  did  not  know  what 
was  in  store  in  the  future  for  me.  Ah,  there  was  the  rub,  don't 
you  sea  This  shooting  business  wasn't  a  pleasant  thing  to  think 
about.  But  Yankees — that  was  different.  I  wanted  to  see  a 
Yankee  spy  hung.  I  wouldn't  mind  that.  I  would  like  to  see 
him  agonize.  A  spy ;  O,  yes,  they  had  hung  one  of  our  regiment 
at  Pulaski — Sam  Davis.  Yes,  I  would  see  the  hanging.  After 
a  while  I  saw  a  guard  approach,  and  saw  two  little  boys  in  their 
midst,  but  did  not  see  the  Yankees  that  I  had  been  looking  for. 
The  two  little  boys  were  rushed  upon  the  platform.  I  saw  that 
they  were  handcuffed.  "Are  they  spies  ?"  I  was  appalled ;  I 
was  horrified ;  nay,  more,  I  was  sick  at  heart.  One  was  about 
fourteen  and  the  other  about  sixteen  years  old,  I  should  judge. 
The  ropes  were  promptly  adjusted  around  their  necks  by  the 
provost  marshal.  The  youngest  one  began  to  beg  and  cry  and 


80  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

plead  most  piteously.  It  was  horrid.  The  older  one  kicked 
him,  and  told  him  to  stand  up  and  show  the  Rebels  how  a  Union 
man  could  die  for  his  country.  Be  a  man !  The  charges  and 
specifications  were  then  read.  The  props  were  knocked  out  and 
the  two  hoys  were  dangling  in  the  air.  I  turned  off  sick  at  heart. 

EATING  RATS. 

While  stationed  at  this  place,  Chattanooga,  rations  were 
very  scarce  and  hard  to  get,  and  it  was;  perhaps,  economy  on  the 
part  of  our  generals  and  commissaries  to  issue  rather  scant 
rations. 

About  this  time  we  learned  that  Pemberton's  army,  sta 
tioned  at  Vicksburg,  were  subsisting  entirely  on  rats.  Instead 
of  the  idea  being  horrid,  we  were  glad  to  know  that  "necessity  is 
the  mother  of  invention,"  and  that  the  idea  had  originated  in  the 
mind  of  genius.  We  at  once  acted  upon  the  information,  and 
started  out  rat  hunting ;  but  we  couldn't  find  any  rats.  Presently 
we  came  to  an  old  outhouse  that  seemed  to  be  a  natural  harbor  for 
this  kind  of  vermin.  The  house  was  quickly  torn  down  and  out 
jumped  an  old  residenter,  who  was  old  and  gray.  I  suppose 
that  he  had  been  chased  before.  But  we  had  jumped  him  and 
were  determined  to  catch  him,  or  "burst  a  boiler."  After  chas 
ing  him  backwards  and  forwards,  the  rat  finally  got  tired  of  this 
foolishness  and  started  for  his  hole.  But  a  rat's  tail  is  the  last 
that  goes  in  the  hole,  and  as  he  went  in  we  made  a  grab  for  his 
tail.  Well,  tail  hold  broke,  and  we  held  the  skin  of  his  tail  in 
our  hands.  But  we  were  determined  to  have  that  rat.  After 
hard  work  we  caught  him.  We  skinned  him,  washed  and  salted 
him,  buttered  and  peppered  him,  and  fried  him.  He  actually 
looked  nice.  The  delicate  aroma  of  the  frying  rat  came  to  our 
hungry  nostrils.  We  were  keen  to  eat  a  piece  of  rat ;  our  teeth 
were  on  edge ;  yea,  even  our  mouth  watered  to  eat  a  piece  of  rat. 
Well,  after  a  while,  he  was  said  to  be  done.  I  got  a  piece  of  cold 
corn  dodger,  laid  my  piece  of  the  rat  on  it,  eat  a  little  piece  of 
bread,  and  raised  the  piece  of  rat  to  my  mouth,  when  I  happened 
to  think  of  how  that  rat's  tail  did  slip.  I  had  lost  my  appetite 
for  dead  rat.  I  did  not  eat  any  rat.  It  was  my  first  and  last 
effort  to  eat  dead  rats. 


CHATTANOOGA.  81 

SWIMMING  THE  TENNESSEE  WITH  KOASTINGEARS. 

The  Tennessee  river  is  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide  at 
Chattanooga.  Right  across  the  river  was  an  immense  corn-field. 
The  green  corn  was  waving  with  every  little  breeze  that  passed ; 
the  tassels  were  bowing  and  nodding  their  heads ;  the  pollen  was 
Hying  across  the  river  like  little  snow-drops,  and  everything1 
seemed  to  say,  "Come  hither,  Johnny  Reb;  come  hither,  Johnny ; 
come  hither/'  The  river  was  wide,  but  we  were  hungry.  The 
roastingears  looked  tempting.  We  pulled  off  our  clothes  and 
launched  into  the  turbid  stream,  and  were  soon  on  the  other  bank. 
Here  was  the  field,  and  here  were  the  roastingears;  but  where 
was  the  raft  or  canoe  ? 

We  thought  of  old  Abraham  and  Isaac  and  the  sacrifice : 
"My  son,  gather  the  roastingears,  there  will  be  a  way  provided.'' 

We  gathered  the  roastingears ;  we  went  back  and  gathered 
more  roastingears,  time  and  again.  The  bank  was  lined  with 
green  roastingears.  Well,  what  was  to  be  done  ?  We  began  to 
shuck  the  corn.  We  would  pull  up  a  few  shucks  on  one  ear,  and 
tie  it  to  the  shucks  of  another — first  one  and  then  another — until 
we  had  at  least  a  hundred  tied  together.  We  put  the  train  of 
corn  into  the  river,  and  as  it  began  to  float  off  we  jumped  in,  and 
taking  the  foremost  ear  in  our  mouth,  struck  out  for  the  other 
bank.  Well,  we  made  the  landing  all  correct. 

I  merely  mention  the  above  incident  to  show  to  what  ex 
tremity  soldiers  would  resort.  Thousands  of  such  occurrences 
were  performed  by  the  private  soldiers  of  the  Rebel  army. 

AM  DETAILED  TO  GO  FOKAGING. 

One  day  I  was  detailed  to  go  with  a  wagon  train  way  down 
in  Georgia  011  a  foraging  expedition.  It  was  the  first  time  since 
I  had  enlisted  as  a  private  that  I  had  struck  a  good  thing.  ~No 
roll  call,  no  drilling,  no  fatigue  duties,  building  fortifications, 
standing  picket,  dress  parade,  reviews,  or  retreats,  had  to  be 
answered  to — the  same  old  monotonous  roll  call  that  had  been 
answered  five  thousand  times  in  these  three  years.  I  felt  like  a 
free  man.  The  shackles  of  discipline  had  for  a  time  been  un 
fettered.  This  was  bliss,  this  was  freedom,  this  was  liberty. 


82 


CO.    H.,    FIJiST    TENNESSEE    EEGIJOJXT. 


The  sky  looked  brighter,  the  birds  sang  more  beautiful  and 
sweeter  than  I  remember  to  have  ever  heard  them.  Even  the 
little  streamlets  and  branches  danced  and  jumped  along  the  peb 
bly  beds,  while  the  minnows  sported  and  frollicked  under  the 
shining  ripples.  The  very  flocks  and  herds  in  the  pasture  looked 
happy  and  gay.  Even  the  screech  of  the  wagons,  that  needed 
greasing,  seemed  to  send  forth  a  happy  sound.  It  was  fine,  I 
tell  you. 

The  blackberries  were  ripe,  and  the  roadsides  were  lined 
with  this  delicious  fruit.  The  Lord  said  that  he  would  curse  the 
ground  for  the  disobedience  of  man,  and  henceforth  it  should 
bring  forth  thorns  and  briars ;  but  the  very  briars  that  had  been 
cursed  were  loaded  with  the  abundance  of  God's  goodness.  I 
felt,  then,  like  David  in  one  of  his  psalms — "The  Lord  is  good, 
the  Lord  is  good,  for  his  mercy  endureth  forever." 

PLEASE  PASS  THE  BUTTER. 

For  several  days  the  wagon  train  continued  on  until  we  had 
arrived  at  the  part  of  country  to  which  we  had  been  directed. 
Whether  they  bought  or  pressed  the  corn,  I  know  not,  but  the  old 
gentleman  invited  us  all  to  take  supper  with  him.  If  I  have 
ever  eaten  a  better  supper  than  that  I  have  forgotten  it.  They 
had  biscuit  for  supper.  What !  flour  bread  ?  Did  my  eyes  de 
ceive  me  ?  Well,  there  were  biscuit — sure  enough  flour  bread — 
and  sugar  and  coffee — genuine  Rio — none  of  your  rye  or  potato 
coffee,  and  butter — regular  butter — and  ham  and  eggs,  and  tur 
nip  greens,  and  potatoes,  and  fried  chicken,  and  nice  clean  plates 
— none  of  your  tin  affairs — and  a  snow-white  table-cloth  and 
napkins,  and  white-handled  knives  and  silver  forks.  At  the 
head  of  the  table  was  the  madam,  having  on  a  pair  of  golden 
spectacles,  and  at  the  foot  the  old  gentleman.  He  said  grace. 
And,  to  cap  the  climax,  two  handsome  daughters.  I  know  that 
I  had  never  seen  two  more  beautiful  ladies.  They  had  on  little 
white  aprons,  trimmed  with  jaconet  edging,  and  collars  as  clean 
and  white  as  snow.  They  looked  good  enough  to  eat,  and  I  think 
at  that  time  I  would  have  given  ten  years  of  my  life  to  have 
kissed  one  of  them.  We  were  invited  to  help  ourselves.  Our 
plates  were  soon  filled  with  the  tempting  food  and  our  tumblers 


CHATTANOOGA.  83 

with  California  beer.  We  would  have  liked  it  better  had  it  been 
twice  as  strong,  but  what  it  lacked  in  strength  we  made  up  in 
quantity.  The  old  lady  said,  "Daughter,  hand  the  gentleman 
the  butter."  It  was  the  first  thing  that  I  had  refused,  and  the 
reason  that  I  did  so  was  because  my  plate  was  full  already. 
Xow,  there  is  nothing  that  will  offend  a  lady  so  quick  as  to  refuse 
to  take  butter  when  handed  to  you.  If  you  should  say,  "No, 
madam,  I  never  eat  butter,"  it  is  a  direct  insult  to  the  lady  of  the 
house.  Better,  far  better,  for  you  to  have  remained  at  home  that 
day.  If  you  don't  oat  butter,  it  is  an  insult ;  if  you  eat  too  much, 
she  will  make  your  ears  burn  after  you  have  left.  It  is  a  regu 
lator  of  society;  it  is  a  civilizer;  it  is  a  luxury  and  a  delicacy 
that  must  be  touched  and  handled  with  care  and  courtesy  on  all 
occasions.  Should  you  desire  to  get  on  the  good  side  of  a  lady, 
just  give  a  broad,  sweeping,  slathering  compliment  to  her  butter. 
It  beats  kissing  the  dirty-faced  baby;  it  beats  anything.  Too 
much  praise  cannot  be  bestowed  upon  the  butter,  be  it  good,  bad, 
or  indifferent  to  your  notions  of  things,  but  to  her,  her  butter  is 
always  good,  superior,  excellent.  I  did  not  know  this  charac 
teristic  of  the  human  female  at  the  time,  or  I  would  have  taken 
a  delicate  slice  of  the  butter.  Here  is  a  sample  of  the  colloquy 
that  followed : 

"Mister,  have  some  butter  ?" 

"Not  any  at  present,  thank  you,  madam." 

"Well,  I  insist  upon  it;  our  butter  is  nice." 

"O,  I  know  it's  nice,  but  my  plate  is  full,  thank  you." 

"Well,  take  some  anyhow." 

One  of  the  girls  spoke  up  and  said : 

"Mother,  the  gentleman  don't  wish  butter." 

"Well,  I  want  him  to  know  that  our  butter  is  clean,  any 
how." 

"Well,  madam,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  there  is  nothing  that  I 
love  so  well  as  warm  biscuit  and  butter.  I'll  thank  you  for  the 
butter." 

I  dive  in.  I  go  in  a  little  too  heavy.  The  old  lady  hints  in 
a  delicate  way  that  they  sold  butter.  I  dive  in  heavier.  That 
cake  of  butter  was  melting  like  snow  in  a  red  hot  furnace.  The 


84:  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

old  lady  says,  "We  sell  butter  to  the  soldiers  at  a  mighty  good 


price." 

I  dive  in  afresh.  She  says,  "I  get  a  dollar  a  pound  for  that 
butter,"  and  I  remark  with  a  good  deal  of  nonchalance,  "Well, 
madam,  it  is  worth  it,"  and  dive  in  again.  I  did  not  marry  one 
of  the  girls. 

WE  EVACUATE  CHATTANOOGA. 

One  morning  while  sitting  around  our  camp  fires  we  heard 
a  boom,  and  a  bomb  shell  passed  over  our  heads.  The  Yankee 
army  was  right  on  the  other  bank  of  the  Tennessee  river.  Bragg 
did  not  know  of  their  approach  until  the  cannon  fired. 

Rosecrans'  army  is  crossing  the  Tennessee  river.  A  part 
are  already  on  Lookout  Mountain.  Some  of  their  cavalry  scouts 
had  captured  some  of  our  foraging  parties  in  Wills  valley.  The 
air  was  full  of  flying  rumors.  Wagons  are  being  packed,  camps 
are  broken  up,  and  there  is  a  general  hubbub  everywhere.  But 
your  old  soldier  is  always  ready  at  a  moment's  notice.  The 
assembly  is  sounded ;  form  companies,  and  we  are  ready  for  a 
march,  or  a  fight,  or  a  detail,  or  anything.  If  we  are  marched  a 
thousand  miles  or  twenty  yards,  it  is  all  the  same.  The  private 
soldier  is  a  machine  that  has  no  right  to  know  anything.  He  is 
amachine  that  moves  without  any  volition  of  his  own.  If  Edi 
son  could  invent  a  wooden  man  that  could  walk  and  load  and 
shoot,  then  you  would  have  a  good  sample  of  the  private  soldier, 
and  it  would  have  this  advantage — the  private  soldier  eats  and 
the  wooden  man  would  not. 

We  left  Chattanooga,  but  whither  bound  we  knew  not,  and 
cared  not;  but  we  marched  toward  Chickamauga  and  crossed  at. 
Lee  &  Gordon's  mill. 

THE  BULL  OF  THE  WOODS. 

On  our  way  to  Lafayette  from  Lee  &  Gordon's  mill,  I 
remember  a  ludicrous  scene,  almost  bordering  on  sacrilege. 
Roseerans'  army  was  very  near  us,  and  we  expected  before  three 
days  elapsed  to  be  engaged  in  battle.  In  fact,  we  knew  there 
must  be  a  fight  or  a  foot  race,  one  or  the  other.  We  could  smell, 
as  it  were,  "the  battle  afar  off." 


CHATTANOOGA.  85 

One  Sabbath  morning  it  was  announced  that  an  eloquent 
and  able  LL.  D.,  from  Nashville,  was  going  to  preach,  and  a? 
the  occasion  was  an  exceedingly  solemn  one,  we  were  anxious  to 
hear  this  divine  preach  from  God's  Holy  Word ;  and  as  he  was 
orie  of  the  abig  ones/'  the  whole  army  was  formed  in  close  col 
umn  and  stacked  their  arms.  The  cannon  were  parked,  all 
pointing  back  toward  Chattanooga.  The  scene  looked  weird 
and  picturesque.  It  was  in  a  dark  wilderness  of  woods  and 
vines  and  overhanging  limbs.  In  fact,  it  seemed  but  the  home 
of  the  owl  and  the  bat,  and  other  varmints  that  turn  night  into 
day.  Everything  looked  solemn.  The  trees  looked  solemn,  the 
scene  looked  solemn,  the  men  looked  solemn,  even  the  horses 
looked  solemn.  You  may  be  sure,  reader,  that  we  felt  solemn. 

The  reverend  LL.  D.  had  prepared  a  regular  war  sermon 
before  he  left  home,  and  of  course  had  to  preach  it,  appropriate 
or  not  appropriate;  it  was  in  him  and  had  to  come  out.  He 
opened  the  service  with  a  song.  I  did  remember  the  piece  that 
was  sung;  but  right  now  I  cannot  recall  it  to  memory;  but  as 
near  as  I  can  now  recollect  here  is  his  prayer,  verbatim  et  liter 
atim: 

uOh,  Thou  immaculate,  invisible,  eternal  and  holy  Being, 
the  exudations  of  whose  effulgence  illuminates  this  terrestrial 
sphere,  we  approach  Thy  presence,  being  covered  all  over  with 
wounds  and  bruises  and  putrifying  sores,  from  the  crowns  of  our 
heads  to  the  soles  of  our  feet.  And  Thou,  O  Lord,  art  our  der 
nier  resort.  The  whole  world  is  one -great  machine,  managed 
by  Thy  puissance.  The  beatific  splendors  of  Thy  face  irradiate 
the  celestial  region  and  felicitate  the  saints.  There  are  the  most 
exuberant  profusions  of  Thy  grace,  and  the  sempiternal  efflux  of 
Thy  glory.  God  is  an  abyss  of  light,  a  circle  whose  center  is 
everywhere  and  His  circumference  nowhere.  Hell  is  the  dark 
world  made  up  of  spiritual  sulphur  and  other  ignited  ingredi 
ents,  disunited  and  unharmonized,  and  without  that  pure  bal 
samic  oil  that  flows  from  the  heart  of  God." 

When  the  old  fellow  got  this  far,  I  lost  the  further  run  of 
his  prayer,  but  regret  very  much  that  I  did  so,  because  it  was  so 
grand  and  fine  that  I  would  have  liked  very  much  to  have  kept 


86  CO.    II.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

such  an  appropriate  prayer  for  posterity.  In  fact,  it  lays  it  on 
heavy  over  any  prayer  I.  ever  heard,  and  I  think  the  new  trans 
lators  ought  to  get  it  and  have  it  put  in  their  book  as  a  sample 
prayer.  But  they  will  have  to  get  the  balance  of  it  from  the 
eminent  LL.  D.  In  fact,  he  was  so  ahigh  larnt"  that  I  don't 
think  any  one  understood  him  but  the  generals.  The  colonels 
might  every  now  and  then  have  understood  a  word,  and  maybe 
a  few  of  the  captains  and  lieutenants,  because  Lieutenant  Lans- 
down  told  me  he  understood  every  word  the  preacher  said,  and 
further  informed  me  that  it  was  none  of  your  one-horse,  old- 
fashioned  country  prayers  that  privates  knew  anything  about, 
but  was  bang-up,  first-rate,  orthodox. 

Well,  after  singing  and  praying,  he  took  his  text.  I  quote 
entirely  from  memory.  "Blessed  be  the  Lord  God,  who  teaches 
my  hands  to  war  and  my  fingers  to  fight."  Now,  reader,  that 
was  the  very  subject  we  boys  did  not  want  to  hear  preached  on — 
on  that  occasion  at  least.  We  felt  like  some  other  subject  would 
have  suited  us  better.  I  forget  how  he  commenced  his  sermon, 
but  I  remember  that  after  he  got  warmed  up  a  little,  he  began  to 
pitch  in  on  the  Yankee  nation,  and  gave  them  particular  fits  as 
to  their  geneology.  He  said  that  we  of  the  South  had  descended 
from  the  royal  and  aristocratic  blood  of  the  Huguenots  of 
France,  and  of  the  cavaliers  of  England,  etc. ;  but  that  the  Yan 
kees  were  the  descendants  of  the  crop-eared  Puritans  and  witch 
burners,  who  came  over  in  the  Mayflower,  and  settled  at  Ply 
mouth  Rock.  He  was  warm  on  this  subject,  and  waked  up  the 
echoes  of  the  forest.  He  said  that  he  and  his  brethren  would 
fight  the  Yankees  in  this  world,  and  if  God  permit,  chase  their 
frightened  ghosts  in  the  next,  through  fire  and  brimstone. 

About  this  time  we  heard  the  awf ullest  racket,  produced  by 
some  wild  animal  tearing  through  the  woods  toward  us,  and  the 
cry,  "Look  out!  look  out!  hooie!  hooie!  hooie!  look  out!"  and 
there  came  running  right  through  our  midst  a  wild  bull,  mad 
with  terror  and  fright,  running  right  over  and  knocking  down 
the  divine,  and  scattering  Bibles  and  hymn  books  in  every  direc 
tion.  The  services  were  brought  to  a  close  without  the  doxology. 

This  same  brave  chaplain  rode  along  with  our  brigade,  on 


CHATTANOOGA.  87 

an  old  string-haltered  horse,  as  we  advanced  to  the  attack  at 
Chickamauga,  exhorting  the  boys  to  be  brave,  to  aim  low,  and  to 
kill  the  Yankees  as  if  they  were  wild  beasts.  He  was  eloquent 
and  patriotic.  He  stated  that  if  he  only  had  a  gun  he  too  would 
go  along  as  a  private  soldier.  You  could  hear  his  voice  echo  and 
re-echo  over  the  hills.  He  had  worked  up  his  patriotism  to  a 
pitch  of  genuine  bravery  and  daring  that  I  had  never  seen 
exhibited,  when  fliff,  fluff,  fluff,  fluff,  FLUFF,  FLUFF— a  whir, 
a  BOOM  !  and  a  shell  screams  through  the  air.  The  reverend 
LL.  D.  stops  to  listen,  like  an  old  sow  when  she  hears  the  wind, 
and  says,  "Remember,  boys,  that  he  who  is  killed  will  sup  to 
night  in  Paradise."  Some  soldier  hallooed  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  "Well,  parson,  you  come  along  and  take  supper  with  us." 
Boom !  whir !  a  bomb  burst,  and  the  parson  at  that  moment  put 
spurs  to  his  horse  and  was  seen  to  limber  to  the  rear,  and  almost 
every  soldier  yelled  out,  "The  parson  isn't  hungry,  and  never 
eats  supper."  I  remember  this  incident,  and  so  does  every 
member  of  the  First  Tennessee  Regiment. 

PRESENTMENT,  OR  THE  WING  OF  THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH. 

Presentment  is  always  a  mystery.  The  soldier  may  at  one 
moment  be  in  good  spirits,  laughing  and  talking.  The  wing  of 
the  death  angel  touches  him.  He  knows  that  his  time  has  come. 
It  is  but  a  question  of  time  with  him  then.  He  knows  that  his 
days  are  numbered.  I  cannot  explain  it.  God  has  numbered 
the  hairs  of  our  heads,  and  not  a  sparrow  falls  without  His 
knowledge.  How  much  more  valuable  are  we  than  many  spar 
rows. 

We  had  stopped  at  Lee  &  Gordon's  mill,  and  gone  into 
camp  for  the  night.  Three  days'  rations  were  being  issued. 
When  Bob  Stout  was  given  his  rations  he  refused  to  take  them. 
His  face  wore  a  serious,  woe-begone  expression.  He  was  asked 
if  he  was  sick,  and  said  "No,"  but  added,  "Boys,  my  days  are 
numbered,  my  time  has  come.  In  three  days  from  to-day,  I 
will  be  lying  right  yonder  on  that  hillside  a  corpse.  Ah,  you 
may  laugh;  my  time  has  come.  I've  got  a  twenty  dollar  gold 
piece  in  my  pocket  that  I've  carried  through  the  war,  and  a  silver 
watch  that  my  father  sent  me  through  the  lines.  Please  take 


88  CO.    II.,    FIEST    TENNESSEE    EEGIAIEXT. 

them  off  when  I  am  dead,  and  give  them  to  Captain  Irvine,  to 
give  to  my  father  when  he  gets  back  home.  Here  are  my  cloth 
ing  and  blanket  that  any  one  who  wishes  them  may  have.  My 
rations  I  do  not  wish  at  all.  My  gun  and  cartridge-box  I  expect 
to  die  with." 

The  next  morning  the  assembly  sounded  about  two  o'clock. 
We  commenced  our  march  in  the  darkness,  and  marched  twenty- 
five  miles  to  a  little  town  by  the  name  of  Lafayette,  to  the  relief 
of  General  Pillow,  whose  command  had  been  attacked  at  that 
place.  After  accomplishing  this,  we  marched  back  by  another 
road  to  Chickamauga.  We  camped  on  the  banks  of  Chicka- 
mauga  on  Friday  night,  and  Saturday  morning  we  commenced 
to  cross  over.  About  twelve  o'clock  we  had  crossed.  No  sooner 
had  we  crossed  than  an  order  came  to  double  quick.  General 
Forrest's  cavalry  had  opened  the  battle.  Even  then  the  spent 
balls  were  falling  amongst  us  with  that  peculiar  thud  so  familiar 
to  your  old  soldier. 

Double  quick !  There  seemed  to  be  no  rest  for  us.  Forrest 
is  needing  reinforcements.  Double  quick,  close  up  in  the  rear ! 
siz,  siz,  double  quick,  boom,  hurry  up,  bang,  bang,  a  rattle  de 
bang,  bang,  siz,  boom,  boom,  boom,  hurry  up,  double  quick, 
boom,  bang,  halt,  front,  right  dress,  boom,  boom,  and  three  sol 
diers  are  killed  and  twenty  wounded.  Billy  Webster's  arm  was 
torn  out  by  the  roots  and  he  killed,  and  a  fragment  of  shell 
buried  itself  in  Jim  McE win's  side,  also  killing  Mr.  Fain  King, 
a  conscript  from  Mount  Pleasant.  Forward,  guide  center, 
march,  charge  bayonets,  fire  at  will,  commence  firing.  (This  is 
where  the  LL.  D.  ran.)  We  debouched  through  the  woods,  fir 
ing  as  we  marched,  the  Yankee  line  about  two  hundred  yards  off. 
Bang,  bang,  siz,  siz.  It  was  a  sort  of  running  fire.  We  kept 
up  a  constant  fire  as  we  advanced.  In  ten  minutes  we  were  face 
to  face  with  the  foe.  It  was  but  a  question  as  to  who  could  load 
and  shoot  the  fastest.  The  army  was  not  up.  Bragg  was  not 
ready  for  a  general  battle.  The  big  battle  was  fought  the  next 
day,  Sunday.  We  held  our  position  for  two  hours  and  ten 
minutes  in  the  midst  of  a  deadly  and  galling  fire,  being  enfiladed 
and  almost  surrounded,  when  General  Forrest  galloped  up  and 


CHATTAXOOGA.  89 

said,  "Colonel  Field,  look  out,  you  are  almost  surrounded;  you 
had  better  fall  back."  The  order  was  given  to  retreat.  I  ran 
through  a  solid  lino  of  blue  coats.  As  I  fell  back,  they  were 
upon  the  right  of  us,  they  were  upon  the  left  of  us,  they  were  in 
front  of  us,  they  were  in  the  rear  of  us.  It  was  a  perfect  hor 
nets7  nest.  The  balls  whistled  around  our  ears  like  the  escape 
valves  of  ten  thousand  engines.  The  woods  seemed  to  be  blaz 
ing  ;  everywhere,  at  every  jump,  would  rise  a  lurking  foe.  But 
to  get  up  and  dust  was  all  we  could  do.  I  was  running  along 
by  the  side  of  Bob  Stout.  General  Preston  Smith  stopped  me 
and  asked  if  our  brigade  was  falling  back.  I  told  him  it  was. 
He  asked  me  the  second  time  if  it  was  Maney's  brigade  that  was 
falling  back.  I  told  him  it  was.  I  heard  him  call  out,  "Atten 
tion,  forward!"  One  solid  sheet  of  leaden  hail  was  falling 
around  me.  I  heard  General  Preston  Smith's  brigade  open.  It 
seemed  to  be  platoons  of  artillery.  The  earth  jarred  and  trem 
bled  like  an  earthquake.  Deadly  missiles  were  flying  in  every 
direction.  It  was  the  very  incarnation  of  death  itself.  I  could 
almost  hear  the  shriek  of  the  death  angel  passing  over  the  scene. 
General  Smith  was  killed  in  ten  minutes  after  I  saw  him.  Bob 
Stout  and  myself  stopped.  Said  I,  "Bob,  you  wern't  killed,  as 
you  expected."  He  did  not  reply,  for  at  that  very  moment  a 
solid  shot  from  the  Federal  guns  struck  him  between  the  waist 
and  the  hip,  tearing  off  one  leg  and  scattering  his  bowels  all  over 
the  ground.  I  heard  him  shriek  out,  "O,  O,  God !"  His  spirit 
had  flown  before  his  body  struck  the  ground.  Farewell,  friend ; 
we  will  meet  over  yonder. 

When  the  cannon  ball  struck  Billy  Webster,  tearing  his 
arm  out  of  the  socket,  he  did  not  die  immediately,  but  as  we 
were  advancing  to  the  attack,  we  left  him  and  the  others  lying 
where  they  fell  upon  the  battlefield;  but  when  we  fell  back  to 
the  place  where  we  had  left  our  knapsacks,  Billy's  arm  had  been 
dressed  by  Dr.  Buist,  and  he  seemed  to  be  quite  easy.  He  asked 
Jim  Fogey  to  please  write  a  letter  to  his  parents  at  home.  He 
wished  to  dictate  the  letter.  He  asked  me  to  please  look  in  his 
knapsack  and  get  him  a  clean  shirt,  and  said  that  he  thought  he 
would  feel  better  if  he  could  get  rid  of  the  blood  that  was  upon 


90  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    KEGIlStEXT. 

him.  I  went  to  hunt  for  his  knapsack  and  found  it,  but  when  I 
got  back  to  where  he  was,  poor,  good  Billy  Webster  was  dead. 
He  had  given  his  life  to  his  country.  His  spirit  is  with  the  good 
and  brave.  ~No  better  or  braver  man  than  Billy  Webster  ever 
drew  the  breath  of  life.  His  bones  lie  yonder  to-day,  upon  the 
battlefield  of  Chickamauga.  I  loved  him;  he  was  my  friend. 
Many  and  many  a  dark  night  have  Billy  and  I  stood  together 
upon  the  silent  picket  post.  Ah,  reader,  my  heart  grows  sick 
and  I  feel  sad  while  I  try  to  write  my  recollections  of  that 
unholy  and  uncalled  for  war.  But  He  that  ruleth  the  heavens 
doeth  all  things  well. 


CHAPTER  IX.— CHICKAMAUGA. 

BATTLE    OF    CHICKAMAUGA. 

Sunday  morning  of  that  September  day,  the  sun  rose  over 
the  eastern  hills  clear  and  beautiful.  The  day  itself  seemed  to 
have  a  Sabbath-day  look  about  it.  The  battlefield  was  in  a 
rough  and  broken  country,  with  trees  and  undergrowth,  that 
ever  since  the  creation  had  never  been  disturbed  by  the  ax  of 
civilized  man.  It  looked  wild,  weird,  uncivilized. 

Our  corps  (Folk's),  being  in  the  engagement  the  day  before, 
were  held  in  reserve.  Reader,  were  you  ever  held  in  reserve  of 
an  attacking  army?  To  see  couriers  dashing  backward  and 
forward ;  to  hear  the  orders  given  to  the  brigades,  regiments  and 
companies ;  to  see  them  forward  in  line  of  battle,  the  battle-flags 
waving ;  to  hear  their  charge,  and  then  to  hear  the  shock  of  bat 
tle,  the  shot  and  shell  all  the  while  sizzing,  and  zipping,  and 
thudding,  and  screaming,  and  roaring,  and  bursting,  and  passing 
right  over  your  heads ;  to  see  the  litter  corps  bringing  back  the 


CHICKAMAUGA.  91 

wounded  continually,  and  hear  them  tell  how  their  command 
was  being  cut  to  pieces,  and  that  every  man  in  a  certain  regiment 
was  killed,  and  to  see  a  cowardly  colonel  (as  we  saw  on  this 
occasion — he  belonged  to  Longstreet's  corps)  come  dashing  back, 
looking  the  very  picture  of  terror  and  fear,  exclaiming,  "O,  men. 
men,  for  God's  sake  go  forward  and  help  my  men!  they  are 
being  cut  all  to  pieces !  we  can't  hold  our  position.  O,  for  God's 
sake,  please  go  and  help  my  command !"  To  hear  some  of  our 
boys  ask,  "What  regiment  is  that?  What  regiment  is  that?'' 
He  replies,  such  and  such  regiment.  And  then  to  hear  some 
fellow  ask,  "Why  ain't  you  with  them,  then,  you  cowardly 
puppy  ?  Take  off  that  coat  and  those  chicken  guts ;  coo,  sheep ; 
baa,  baa,  black  sheep ;  flicker,  flicker ;  ain't  you  ashamed  of  your 
self  ?  flicker,  flicker ;  I've  got  a  notion  to  take  my  gun  and  kill 
him,"  etc.  Every  word  of  this  is  true;  it  actually  happened. 
But  all  that  could  demoralize,  and  I  may  say  intimidate  a  sol 
dier,  was  being  enacted,  and  he  not  allowed  to  participate.  How 
we  were  moved  from  one  position  to  another,  but  always  under 
fire;  our  nerves  strung  to  their  utmost  tension,  listening  to  the 
roar  of  battle  in  our  immediate  front,  to  hear  it  rage  and  then 
get  dimmer  until  it  seems  to  die  out  entirely ;  then  all  at  once  it 
breaks  out  again,  and  you  think  now  in  a  very  few  minutes  you 
will  be  ordered  into  action,  and  then  all  at  once  we  go  double- 
quicking  to  another  portion  of  the  field,  the  battle  raging  back 
from  the  position  we  had  left.  General  Leonidas  Polk  rides  up 
and  happening  to  stop  in  our  front,  some  of  the  boys  halloo  out, 
"Say,  General,  what  command  is  that  which  is  engaged  now?" 
The  general  kindly  answers,  "That  is  Longstreet's  corps.  He  is 
driving  them  this  way,  and  we  will  drive  them  that  way,  and 
crush  them  between  the  'upper  and  nether  millstone.' '  Turn 
ing  to  General  Cheatham,  he  said,  "General,  move  your  division 
and  attack  at  once."  Everything  is  at  once  set  in  motion,  and 
General  Cheatham,  to  give  the  boys  a  good  send-off,  says,  "For 
ward,  boys,  and  give  'em  h — 1."  General  Polk  also  says  a  good 
word,  and  that  word  was,  "Do  as  General  Cheatham  says,  boys." 
(You  know  he  was  a  preacher  and  couldn't  curse.)  After 
marching  in  solid  line,  see-sawing,  right  obliqueing,  left  oblique- 


92 


FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 


ing,  guide  center  and  close  up;  commence  firing — fire  at  will; 
charge  and  take  their  breastworks ;  our  pent-up  nervousness  and 
demoralization  of  all  day  is  suddenly  gone.  We  raise  one  long, 
loud,  cheering  shout  and  charge  right  upon  their  breastworks. 
They  are  pouring  their  deadly  missiles  into  our  advancing  ranks 
from  under  their  head-logs.  We  do  not  stop  to  look  around  to 
see  who  is  killed  and  wounded,  but  press  right  up  their  breast 
works,  and  plant  our  battle-flag  upon  it.  They  waver  and  break 
and  run  in  every  direction,  when  General  John  C.  Breckin- 
ridge's  division,  which  had  been  supporting  us,  march  up  and 
pass  us  in  full  pursuit  of  the  routed  and  flying  Federal  army. 

AFTER   THE   BATTLE. 

We  remained  upon  the  battlefield  of  Chickamauga  all  night. 
Everything  had  fallen  into  our  hands.  We  had  captured  a  great 
many  prisoners  and  small  arms,  and  many  pieces  of  artillery  and 
wagons  and  provisions.  The  Confederate  and  Federal  dead, 
wounded,  and  dying  were  everywhere  scattered  over  the  battle 
field.  Men  were  lying  where  they  fell,  shot  in  every  conceivable 
part  of  the  body.  Some  with  their  entrails  torn  out  and  still 
hanging  to  them  and  piled  up  on  the  ground  beside  them,  and 
they  still  alive.  Some  with  their  under  jaw  torn  off,  and  hang 
ing  by  a  fragment  of  skin  to  their  cheeks,  with  their  tongues 
lolling  from  their  mouth,  and  they  trying  to  talk.  Some  with 
both  eyes  shot  out,  with  one  eye  hanging  down  on  their  cheek. 
Tn  fact,  you  might  walk  over  the  battlefield  and  find  men  shot 
from  the  crown  of  the  head  to  the  tip  end  of  the  toe.  And  then 
to  see  all  those  dead,  wounded  and  dying  horses,  their  heads  and 
tails  drooping,  and  they  seeming  to  be  so  intelligent  as  if  they 
comprehended  everything.  I  felt  like  shedding  a  tear  for  those 
innocent  dumb  brutes. 

Header,  a  battlefield,  after  the  battle,  is  a  sad  and  sorrowful 
sight  to  look  at.  The  glory  of  war  is  but  the  glory  of  battle,  the 
shouts,  and  cheers,  and  victory. 

A  soldier's  life  is  not  a  pleasant  one.  It  is  always,  at  best, 
one  of  privations  and  hardships.  The  emotions  of  patriotism 
and  pleasure  hardly  counterbalance  the  toil  and  suffering  that  he 


CHICKAMAUGA.  9o 

has  to  undergo  in  order  to  enjoy  his  patriotism  and  pleasure. 
Dying  on  the  field  of  battle  and  glory  is  about  the  easiest  duty  a 
soldier  has  to  undergo.  It  is  the  living,  marching,  fighting, 
shooting  soldier  that  has  the  hardships  of  war  to  carry.  When 
a  brave  soldier  is  killed  he  is  at  rest.  The  living  soldier  knows 
not  at  what  moment  he,  too,  may  be  called  on  to  lay  down  his  life 
on  the  altar  of  his  country.  The  dead  are  heroes,  the  living  are 
but  men  compelled  to  do  the  drudgery  and  suffer  the  privations 
incident  to  the  thing  called  "glorious  war." 

A  NIGHT  AMONG  THE  DEAD. 

We  rested  on  our  arms  where  the  battle  ceased.  All  around 
us  everywhere  were  the  dead  and  wounded,  lying  scatterd  over 
the  ground,  and  in  many  places  piled  in  heaps.  Many  a  sad  and 
heart-rending  scene  did  I  witness  upon  this  battlefield  of  Chick- 
amauga.  Our  men  died  the  death  of  heroes.  I  sometimes  think 
that  surely  our  brave  men  have  not  died  in  vain.  It  is  true,  our 
cause  is  lost,  but  a  people  who  loved  those  brave  and  noble  heroes 
should  ever  cherish  their  memory  as  men  who  died  for  them. 
I  shed  a  tear  over  their  memory.  They  gave  their  all  to  their 
country.  Abler  pens  than  mine  must  write  their  epitaphs,  and 
tell  of  their  glories  and  heroism.  I  am  but  a  poor  writer,  at 
best,  and  only  try  to  tell  of  the  events  that  I  saw. 

One  scene  I  now  remember,  that  I  can  imperfectly  relate. 
While  a  detail  of  us  were  passing  over  the  field  of  death  and 
blood,  with  a  dim  lantern,  looking  for  our  wounded  soldiers  to 
carry  to  the  hospital,  wre  came  across  a  group  of  ladies,  looking1 
among  the  killed  and  wounded  for  their  relatives,  when  I  heard 
one  of  the  ladies  say,  "There  they  come  with  their  lanterns."  I 
approached  the  ladies  and  asked  them  for  whom  they  were  look 
ing.  They  told  me  the  name,  but  I  have  forgotten  it.  We 
passed  on,  and  coming  to  a  pile  of  our  slain,  we  had  turned  over 
several  of  our  dead,  when  one  of  the  ladies  screamed  out,  "O, 
there  he  is!  Poor  fellow!  Dead,  dead,  dead!"  She  ran  to 
the  pile  of  slain  and  raised  the  dead  man's  head  and  placed  it  on 
her  lap  and  began  kissing  him  and  saying,  "O,  O,  they  have 
killed  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  darling !  O,  mother,  mother, 
what  must  I  do !  My  poor,  poor  darling!  O,  they  have  killer! 


94  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

him,  they  have  killed  him !"  I  could  witness  the  scene  no  longer. 
I  turned  and  walked  away,  and  William  A.  Hughes  was  crying, 
and  remarked,  "O,  law  me;  this  war  is  a  terrible  thing."  We 
left  them  and  began  again  hunting  for  our  wounded.  All 
through  that  long  September  night  we  continued  to  carry  off  our 
wounded,  and  when  the  morning  sun  arose  over  the  eastern  hills, 
the  order  came  to  march  to  Missionary  Ridge. 


CHAPTER  X.-— MISSIONARY  RIDGE. 

MISSIONARY  RIDGE. 

After  retreating  from  Chickamauga,  the  Yankees  attempted 
to  re-form  their  broken  lines  on  Missionary  Ridge.  We  ad 
vanced  to  attack  them,  but  they  soon  fell  back  to  Chattanooga. 
We  knew  they  were  in  an  impregnable  position.  We  had  built 
those  breastworks  and  forts;  and  knew  whereof  we  spoke.  We 
stopped  on  Missionary  Ridge,  and  gnashed  our  teeth  at  Chatta 
nooga.  I  do  not  know  what  our  generals  thought;  I  do  not 
know  what  the  authorities  at  Richmond  thought,  but  I  can  tell 
you  what  the  privates  thought.  But  here  we  were  on  Missionary 
Ridge  and  Lookout  Mountain,  looking  right  down  into  Chatta 
nooga.  We  had  but  to  watch  and  wait.  We  would  starve  them 
out. 

The  Federal  army  had  accomplished  their  purpose.  They 
Avanted  Chattanooga,  They  laughed  at  our  triumph,  and 
mocked  at  our  victory.  They  got  Chattanooga.  "Now,  where 
are  you,  Johnny  Reb ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 
You've  got  the  dry  grins,  arn't  you  ?  We've  got  the  key ;  when 
the  proper  time  conies  we'll  unlock  your  doors  and  go  in.  You 
are  going  to  starve  us  out,  eh  ?  We  are  not  very  hungry  at 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE.  95 

present,  and  we  don't  want  any  more  pie.  When  we  starve  out 
we'll  call  on  you  for  rations,  but  at  present  we  are  not  starving, 
by  a  jug  full ;  but  if  you  want  any  whisky  or  tobacco,  send  over 
and  we'll  give  you  some.  We've  got  all  we  wanted,  and  assure 
you  we  are  satisfied." 

The  above  remarks  are  the  supposed  colloquy  that  took 
place  between  the  two  armies.  Bragg,  in  trying  to  starve  the 
Yankees  out,  was  starved  out  himself.  Ask  any  old  Rebel  as  to 
our  bill  of  fare  at  Missionary  Ridge.  In  all  the  history  of  the 
war,  I  cannot  remember  of  more  privations  and  hardships  than 
we  went  through  at  Missionary  Ridge.  And  when  in  the  very 
acme  of  our  privations  and  hunger,  when  the  army  was  most 
dissatisfied  and  unhappy,,  we  were  ordered  into  line  of  battle  to 
be  reviewed  by  Honorable  Jefferson  Davis.  When  he  passed  by 
us,  with  his  great  retinue  of  staff  officers  and  play-outs  at  full 
gallop,  cheers  greeted  them,  with  the  words,  "Send  us  something 
to  eat,  Massa  Jeff.  Give  us  something  to  eat,  Massa  Jeff.  Fm 
hungry !  I'm  hungry !" 

SERGEANT    TUCKER   AND   GENERAL    WILDER. 

At  this  place  the  Yankee  outpost  was  on  one  side  of  the 
Tennessee  river,  and  ours  on  the  other.  I  was  on  the  detail  one 
Sunday  commanded  by  Sergeant  John  T.  Tucker.  When  we 
were  approaching  we  heard  the  old  guard  and  the  Yankee  picket 
talking  back  and  forth  across  the  river.  The  new  guard  imme 
diately  resumed  the  conversation.  We  had  to  halloo  at  the  top 
of  our  voices,  the  river  being  about  three  hundred  yards  wide  at 
this  point.  But  there  was  a  little  island  about  the  middle  of  the 
river.  A  Yankee  hallooed  out,  "O,  Johnny,  Johnny,  meet  me 
half  way  in  the  river  on  the  island."  "All  right,"  said  Ser 
geant  Tucker,  who  immediately  undressed  all  but  his  hat,  in 
which  he  carried  the  Chattanooga  Rebel  and  some  other  Southern 
newspapers,  and  swam  across  to  the  island.  When  he  got  there 
the  Yankee  was  there,  but  the  Yankee  had  waded.  I  do  not 
know  what  he  and  John  talked  about,  but  they  got  very  friendly, 
and  John  invited  him  to  come  clear  across  to  our  side,  which 
invitation  he  accepted.  I  noticed  at  the  time  that  while  John 
swam,  the  Yankee  waded,  remarking  that  he  couldn't  swim. 


CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

The  river  was  but  little  over  waist  deep.  Well,  they  came  across 
and  we  swapped  a  few  lies,  canteens  and  tobacco,  and  then  the 
Yankee  went  back,  wading  all  the  way  across  the  stream.  That 
man  was  General  Wilder,  commanding  the  Federal  cavalry,  and 
at  the  battle  of  Missionary  Ridge  he  threw  his  whole  division  of 
cavalry  across  the  Tennessee  river  at  that  point,  thus  flanking 
Bragg' s  army,  and  opening  the  battle.  He  was  examining  the 
ford,  and  the  swapping  business  was  but  a  mere  by-play.  He 
played  it  sharp,  and  Bragg  had  to  get  further. 

MOCCASIN  POINT. 

Maney's  brigade  fortified  on  top  of  Lookout  Mouncain. 
From  this  position  we  could  see  five  states.  The  Yankees  had 
built  a  fort  across  the  river,  on  Moccasin  Point,  and  were  throw 
ing  shells  at  us  continually.  I  have  never  seen  such  accurate 
shooting  in  my  life.  It  was  upon  the  principle  of  shooting  a 
squirrel  out  of  a  tree,  and  they  had  become  so  perfect  in  their 
aim,  that  I  believe  they  could  have  killed  a  squirrel  a  mile  off. 
We  could  have  killed  a  great  many  artillery  men  if  we  had  been 
allowed  to  shoot,  but  no  private  .soldier  was  ever  allowed  to  shoot 
a  gun  on  his  own  hook.  If  he  shot  at  all,  it  must  be  by  the  order 
of  an  officer,  for  if  just  one  cartridge  was  shot  away  or  lost,  the 
private  was  charged  twenty-five  cents  for  it,  and  had  to  do  extra 
duty,  and  I  don't  think  our  artillery  was  ever  allowed  to  fire  a 
single  shot  under  any  circumstances.  Our  rations  were  cooked 
up  by  a  special  detail  ten  miles  in  the  rear,  and  were  sent  to  us 
every  three  days,  and  then  those  three  days'  rations  were  gen 
erally  eaten  up  at  one  meal,  and  the  private  soldier  had  to  starve 
the  other  two  days  and  a  half,  i^ever  in  all  my  whole  life  do  I 
remember  of  ever  experiencing  so  much  oppression  and  humilia 
tion.  The  soldiers  were  starved  and  almost  naked,  and  covered 
all  over  with  lice  and  camp  itch  and  filth  and  dirt.  The  men 
looked  sick,  hollow-eyed,  and  heart-broken,  living  principally 
upon  parched  corn,  which  had  been  picked  out  of  the  mud  and 
dirt  under  the  feet  of  officers'  horses.  We  thought  of  nothing 
but  starvation. 

The  battle  of  Missionary  Ridge  was  opened  from  Moccasin 
Point,  while  we  were  on  Lookout  Mountain,  but  I  knew  nothing 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE.  97 

of  the  movements  or  maneuvers  of  either  army.,  and  only  tell 
what  part  I  took  in  the  battle. 

BATTLE    OF   MISSIONARY   RIDGE. 

One  morning  Theodore  Sloan,  Hog  Johnson  and  I  were 
standing  picket  at  the  little  stream  that  runs  along  at  the  foot  of 
Lookout  Mountain.  In  fact,  I  would  be  pleased  to  name  our 
capiain,  Fulcher,  and  Lieutenant  Lansdown,  of  the  guard  on  this 
occasion,  because  we  acted  as  picket  for  the  whole  three  days' 
engagement  without  being  relieved,  and  haven't  been  relieved 
yet.  But  that  battle  has  gone  into  history.  We  heard  a  Yan 
kee  call,  "O,  Johnny,  Johnny  Reb !"  I  started  out  to  meet  him 
as  formerly,  when  he  hallooed  out,  "Go  back,  Johnny,  go  back ; 
we  are  ordered  to  fire  on  you."  "What  is  the  matter  ?  Is  your 
army  going  to  advance  on  us  ?"  "I  don't  know ;  we  are  ordered 
to  fire."  I  jumped  back  into  the  picket  post,  and  a  minne  ball 
ruined  the  only  hat  I  had ;  another  and  another  followed  in  quick 
succession,  and  the  dirt  flew  up  in  our  faces  off  our  little  breast 
works.  Before  night  the  picket  line  was  engaged  from  one  end 
to  the  other.  If  you  had  only  heard  it,  dear  reader.  It  went 
like  ten  thousand  wood-choppers,  and  an  occasional  boom  of  a 
cannon  would  remind  you  of  a  tree  falling.  We  could  hear 
colonels  giving  commands  to  their  regiments,  and  could  see  very 
plainly  the  commotion  and  hubbub,  but  what  was  up,  we  were 
unable  to  tell.  The  picket  line  kept  moving  to  our  right.  The 
second  night  found  us  near  the  tunnel,  and  right  where  two  rail 
roads  cross  each  other,  or  rather  one  runs  over  the  other  high 
enough  for  the  cars  to  pass  under.  We  could  see  all  over  Chat 
tanooga,  and  it  looked  like  myriads  of  blue  coats  swarming. 

Day's  and  Mannigault's  brigades  got  into  a  night  attack  at 
the  foot  of  Lookout  Mountain.  I  could  see  the  whole  of  it.  It 
looked  like  lightning  bugs  on  a  dark  night.  But  about  mid 
night  everything  quieted  down.  Theodore  Sloan,  Hog  Johnson 
and  myself  occupied  an  old  log  cabin  as  vidette.  We  had  not 
slept  any  for  two  nights,  and  were  very  drowsy,  I  assure  you, 
but  we  knew  there  was  something  up,  and  we  had  to  keep  awake. 
The  next  morning,  nearly  day,  I  think  I  had  dropped  off  into  a 
pleasant  doze,  and  was  dreaming  of  more  pretty  things  than  you 


»0  CO.    H.,   MKST   TENNESSEE    EEGIMENT. 

ever  saw  in  your  life,  when  Johnson  touched  me  and  whispered. 
"Look,  look,  there  are  three  Yankees;  must  I  shoot?"  I  whis 
pered  back  "Yes."  A  bang;  "a  waugh"  went  a  shriek.  He 
had  got  one,  sure.  Everything  got  quiet  again,  and  we  heard 
nothing  more  for  an  hour.  Johnson  touched  me  again  and 
whispered,  ""Yonder  they  come  again;  look,  look!"  I  could  not 
see  them;  was  too  sleepy  for  that.  Sloan  could  not  see  them, 
either.  Johnson  pulled  down,  and  another  unearthly  squall 
rended  the  night  air.  The  streaks  of  day  had  begun  to  glimmer 
over  Missionary  Ridge,  and  I  could  see  in  the  dim  twilight  the 
Yankee  guard  not  fifty  yards  off.  Said  I,  "Boys,  let's  fire  into 
them  and  run."  We  took  deliberate  aim  and  fired.  At  that 
they  raised,  I  thought,  a  mighty  sickly  sort  of  yell  and  charged 
the  house.  We  ran  out,  but  waited  on  the  outside.  We  took  a 
second  position  where  the  railroads  cross  each  other,  but  they 
began  shelling  us  from  the  river,  when  we  got  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  railroad  and  they  ceased. 

I  know  nothing  about  the  battle ;  how  Grant,  with  one  wing, 
went  up  the  river,  and  Hooker's  corps  went  down  Wills  valley, 
etc.  I  heard  fighting  and  commanding  and  musketry  all  day 
long,  but  I  was  still  on  picket.  Balls  were  passing  over  our 
heads,  both  coming  and  going.  I  could  not  tell  whether  I  was 
standing  picket  for  Yankees  or  Rebels.  I  knew  that  the  Yan 
kee  line  was  between  me  and  the  Rebel  line,  for  I  could  see  the 
battle  right  over  the  tunnel.  We  had  been  placed  on  picket  at  the 
foot  of  Lookout  Mountain,  but  we  were  five  miles  from  that  place 
now.  If  I  had  tried  to  run  in  I  couldn't.  I  had  got  separated 
from  Sloan  and  Johnson  somehow;  in  fact,  was  waiting  either 
for  an  advance  of  the  Yankees,  or  to  be  called  in  by  the  captain 
of  the  picket.  I  could  see  the  blue  coats  fairly  lining  Missionary 
Ridge  in  my  read.  The  Yankees  were  swarming  everywhere. 
They  were  passing  me  all  day  with  their  dead  and  wounded, 
going  back  to  Chattanooga.  ~No  one  seemed  to  notice  me ;  they 
were  passing  to  and  fro,  cannon,  artillery,  and  everything.  I 
was  willing  to  be  taken  prisoner,  but  no  one  seemed  disposed  to 
do  it.  I  was  afraid  to  look  at  them,  and  I  was  afraid  to  hide, 
for  fear  some  one's  attention  would  be  attracted  toward  me.  I 


MISSIONARY    RIDGE.  99 

wished  I  could  make  myself  invisible.  I  think  I  was  invisible. 
F  felt  that  way  anyhow.  I  felt  like  the  boy  who  wanted  to  go  to 
the  wedding,  but  had  no  shoes.  Cassabianca  never  had  such 
feelings  as  I  had  that  livelong  day. 

Say,  captain,  say,  if  yet  iny  task  be   done? 

And    yet    the    sweeping  waves  rolled  on, 
And     answered      neither  yea   nor  nay. 

About  two  or  three  o'clock,  a  column  of  Yankees  advancing 
to  the  attack  swept  right  over  where  I  was  standing.  I  was 
trying  to  stand  aside  to  get  out  of  their  way;  but  the  more  I  tried 
to  get  out  of  their  way,  the  more  in  their  way  I  got.  I  was  car 
ried  forward,  I  knew  not  whither.  We  soon  arrived  at  the  foot 
of  the  ridge,  at  our  old  breastworks.  I  recognized  Robert 
Brank's  old  corn  stalk  house,  and  Alf  Horsley's  fort,  an  old  log 
house  called  Fort  Horsley.  I  was  in  front  of  the  enemy's  line, 
and  was  afraid  to  run  up  the  ridge,  and  afraid  to  surrender. 
They  were  ordered  to  charge  up  the  hill.  There  was  no  firing 
from  the  Rebel  lines  in  our  immediate  front.  They  kept  climb 
ing  and  pulling  and  scratching  until  I  was  in  touching  distance 
of  the  old  Rebel  breastworks,  right  on  the  very  apex  of  Mission 
ary  Ridge.  I  made  one  jump,  and  I  heard  Captain  Turner, 
who  had  the  very  four  Napoleon  guns  we  had  captured  at  Perry- 
ville,  halloo  out,  "Number  four,  solid !"  and  then  a  roar.  The 
next  order  was,  "Limber  to  the  rear."  The  Yankees  were  cut 
ting  and  slashing,  and  the  cannoneers  were  running  in  every 
direction.  I  saw  Day's  brigade  throw  down  their  guns  and 
break  like  quarter  horses.  Bragg  was  trying  to  rally  them:  I 
heard  him  say,  "Here  is  your  commander,"  and  the  soldiers 
hallooed  back,  "here  is  your  mule." 

The  whole  army  was  routed.  I  ran  on  down  the  ridge,  and 
there  was  our  regiment,  the  First  Tennessee,  with  their  guns 
stacked,  and  drawing  rations  as  if  nothing  was  going  on.  Says 
I,  "Colonel  Field,  what's  the  matter  ?  The  whole  army  is  rou  eel 
and  running;  hadn't  you  better  be  getting  away  from  here? 
The  Yankees  are  not  a  hundred  yards  from  here.  Turner's 
battery  has  surrendered,  Day's  brigade  has  thrown  down  their 
arms;  and  look  yonder,  that  is  the  Stars  and  Stripes."  He 
remarked  very  coolly,  "You  seem  to  be  demoralized.  We've 


100  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

whipped  them  here.  We've  captured  two  thousand  prisoners 
and  five  stands  of  colors." 

Just  at  this  time  General  Bragg  and  staff  rode  up.  Bragg 
had  joined  the  church  at  Shelbyville,  but  he  had  back-slid  at 
Missionary  Ridge.  He  was  cursing  like  a  sailor.  Says  he, 
"What's  this?  Ah,  ha,  have  you  stacked  your  arms  for  a  sur 
render?"  "No,  sir/'  says  Field.  "Take  arms,  shoulder  arms, 
by  the  right  flank,  file  right,  march,"  just  as  cool  and  deliberate 
as  if  on  dress  parade.  Bragg  looked  scared.  He  had  put  spurs 
to  his  horse,  and  was  running  like  a  scared  dog  before  Colonel 
Field  had  a  chance  to  answer  him.  Every  word  of  this  is  a 
fact.  We  at  once  became  the  rear  guard  of  the  whole  army.* 

I  felt  sorry  for  General  Bragg.  The  army  was  routed,  and 
Bragg  looked  so  scared.  Poor  fellow,  he  looked  so  hacked  and 
whipped  and  mortified  and  chagrined  at  defeat,  and  all  along  the 
line,  when  Bragg  would  pass,  the  soldiers  would  raise  the  yell, 
"Here  is  your  mule:"  "Bully  for  Bragg,  he's  h — 1  on  retreat." 

Bragg  was  a  good  disciplinarian,  and  if  he  had  cultivated 
the  love  and  respect  of  his  troops  by  feeding  and  clothing  them 
better  than  they  were,  the  result  would  have  been  different. 
More  depends  on  a  good  general  than  the  lives  of  many  privates. 
The  private  loses  his  life,  the  general  his  country. 

GOOD-BYE,  TOM:  WEBB. 

As  soon  as  the  order  was  given  to  march,  we  saw  poor  Tom 
Webb  lying  on  the  battlefield  shot  through  the  head,  his  blood 
and  brains  smearing  his  face  and  clothes,  and  he  still  alive.  He 
was  as  brave  and  noble  a  man  as  our  Heavenly  Father,  in  Hi? 
infinite  wisdom,  ever  made.  Everybody  loved  him.  He  was  a 
universal  favorite  of  the  company  and  regiment ;  was  brave  and 
generous,  and  ever  anxious  to  take  some  other  man's  place  when 
there  was  any  skirmishing  or  fighting  to  be  done.  We  did  not 
wish  to  leave  the  poor  fellow  in  that  condition,  and  A.  S.  Hors- 
ley,  John  T.  Tucker,  Tennessee  Thompson  and  myself  got  a 
litter  and  carried  him  on  our  shoulders  through  that  livelong 

*I  remember  of  General  Maney  meeting  Gary.  I  do  not  know  who  Gary 
was,  but  Maney  and  Gary  seemed  to  be  very  glad  to  see  each  other. 
Every  time  I  think  of  that  retreat  I  think  of  Gary. 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE.  101 

night  back  to  Chickamauga  Station.  The  next  morning  Dr.  J. 
E.  Dixon,  of  Deshler's  brigade,  passed  by  and  told  us  that  it 
would  be  useless  for  us  to  carry  him  any  further,  and  that  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  him  ever  to  recover.  The  Yankees  were 
then  advancing  and  firing  upon  us.  What  could  we  do?  We 
could  not  carry  him  any  further,  and  we  could  not  bury  him,  for 
he  was  still  alive.  To  leave  him  where  he  was  we  thought  best. 
We  took  hold  of  his  hand,  bent  over  him  and  pressed  our  lips  to 
his — all  four  of  us.  We  kissed  him  good-bye  and  left  him  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  advancing  foe,  in  whose  hands  he  would 
be  in  a  few  moments.  No  doubt  they  laughed  and  jeered  at  the 
dying  Rebel.  It  mattered  not  what  they  did,  for  poor  Tom 
Webb's  spirit,  before  the  sun  went  down,  was  with  God  and  the 
holy  angels.  He  had  given  his  all  to  his  country.  O,  how  we 
missed  him.  It  seemed  that  the  very  spirit  and  life  of  Com 
pany  H  had  died  with  the  death  of  good,  noble  and  brave  Tom 
Webb. 

I  thank  God  that  I  am  no  infidel,  and  I  feel  and  believe  that 
I  will  again  see  Tom  Webb.  Just  as  sure  and  certain,  reader, 
as  you  are  now  reading  these  lines,  I  will  meet  him  up  yonder — 
I  know  I  will. 

THE  REAR  GUARD. 

When  we  had  inarched  about  a  mile  back  in  the  rear  of  the 
battlefield,  we  were  ordered  to  halt  so  that  all  stragglers  might 
pass  us,  as  we  were  detailed  as  the  rear  guard.  While  resting  on 
the  road  side  we  saw  Day's  brigade  pass  us.  They  were  gunless, 
cartridge-boxless,  knapsackless,  canteenless,  and  all  other  mili 
tary  accoutermentsless,  and  swordless,  and  oflficerless,  and  they 
all  seemed  to  have  the  'possum  grins,  like  Bragg  looked,  and  as 
they  passed  our  regiment,  you  never  heard  such  fun  made  of  a 
parcel  of  soldiers  in  your  life.  Every  fellow  was  yelling  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  "Yaller-hammer,  Alabama,  flicker,  flicker, 
flicker,  yaller-hammer,  Alabama,  flicker,  flicker,  flicker."  I  felt 
sorry  for  the  yellow-hammer  Alabamians,  they  looked  so  hacked, 
and  answered  back  never  a  word.  When  they  had  passed,  two 
pieces  of  artillery  passed  us.  They  were  the  only  two  pieces 
not  captured  at  Missionary  Ridge,  and  they  were  ordered  to 


102 


CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


immediately  precede  us  in  bringing  up  the  rear.  The  whole 
rear  guard  was  placed  under  the  command  of  the  noble,  gener 
ous,  handsome  and  brave  General  Gist,  of  South  Carolina.  I 
loved  General  Gist,  and  when  I  mention  his  name  tears  gather  in 
my  eyes.  I  think  he  was  the  handsomest  man  I  ever  knew. 

Our  army  was  a  long  time  crossing  the  railroad  bridge 
across  Chickamauga  river.  Maney's  brigade,  of  Cheatham's 
division,  and  General  L.  E.  Folk's  brigade,  of  Cleburne's  divis 
ion,  formed  a  sort  of  line  of  battle,  and  had  to  wait  until  the 
stragglers  had  all  passed.  I  remember  looking  at  them,  and  as 
they  passed  I  could  read  the  character  of  every  soldier.  Some 
were  mad,  others  cowed,  and  many  were  laughing.  Some  were 
cursing  Bragg,  some  the  Yankees,  and  some  were  rejoicing  at 
the  defeat.  I  cannot  describe  it.  It  was  the  first  defeat  our 
army  had  ever  suffered,  but  the  prevailing  sentiment  was 
anathemas  and  denunciations  hurled  against  Jeff  Davis  for  or 
dering  Longstreet's  corps  to  Knoxville,  and  sending  off  Generals 
Wheeler's  and  Forrest's  cavalry,  while  every  private  soldier  in 
the  whole  army  knew  that  the  enemy  was  concentrating  at  Chat 
tanooga. 

CHICKAMAUGA   STATION. 

When  we  arrived  at  Chickamauga  Station,  our  brigade  and 
General  Lucius  E.  Folk's  brigade,  of  Cleburne's  division,  were 
left  to  set  fire  to  the  town  and  to  burn  up  and  destroy  all  those 
immense  piles  of  army  stores  and  provisions  which  had  been 
accumulated  there  to  starve  the  Yankees  out  of  Chattanooga. 
Great  piles  of  corn  in  sacks,  and  bacon,  and  crackers,  and  mo 
lasses,  and  sugar,  and  coffee,  and  rice,  and  potatoes,  and  onions, 
and  peas,  and  flour  by  the  hundreds  of  barrels,  all  now  to  be 
given  to  the  flames,  while  for  months  the  Rebel  soldiers  had  been 
stinted  and  starved  for  the  want  of  these  same  provisions.  It 
was  enough  to  make  the  bravest  and  most  patriotic  soul  that  ever 
fired  a  gun  in  defense  of  any  cause  on  earth,  think  of  rebelling 
against  the  authorities  as  they  then  were.  Every  private  soldier 
knew  these  stores  were  there,  and  for  the  want  of  them  we  lost 
our  cause. 

Reader,  I  ask  you  who  you  think  was  to  blame?     Most  of 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE.  103 

our  army  had  already  passed  through  hungry  and  disheartened, 
and  here  were  all  these  stores  that  had  to  be  destroyed.  Before 
setting  fire  to  the  town,  every  soldier  in  Maney's  and  Folk's 
brigades  loaded  himself  down  with  rations.  It  was  a  laughable 
looking  rear  guard  of  a  routed  and  retreating  army.  Every  one 
of  us  had  cut  open  the  end  of  a  corn  sack,  emptied  out  the  corn, 
and  filled  it  with  hard-tack,  and,  besides,  every  one  of  us  had  a 
side  of  bacon  hung  to  our  bayonets  on  our  guns.  Our  canteens, 
and  clothes,  and  faces,  and  hair  were  all  gummed  up  with  mo 
lasses.  Such  is  the  picture  of  our  rear  guard.  .N"ow,  reader,  if 
you  were  ever  on  the  rear  guard  of  a  routed  and  retreating  army, 
you  know  how  tedious  it  is.  You  don't  move  more  than  ten  feet 
at  furthest  before  you  have  to  halt,  and  then  ten  feet  again  a  few 
minutes  afterwards,  and  so  on  all  day  long.  You  haven't  time 
to  sit  down  a  moment  before  you  are  ordered  to  move  on  again. 
And  the  Yankees  dash  up  every  nowr  and  then,  and  fire  a  volley 
into  your  rear.  ISTow  that  is  the  way  we  were  marched  that  live 
long  day,  until  nearly  dark,  and  then  the  Yankees  began  to 
crowd  us.  We  can  see  their  line  forming,  and  know  we  have  to 
fight. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  CAT  CREEK. 

About  dark  a  small  body  of  cavalry  dashed  in  ahead  of  us 
and  captured  and  carried  off  one  piece  of  artillery  and  Colonel 
John  F.  House,  General  Maney's  assistant  adjutant-general.  We 
will  have  to  form  line  of  battle  and  drive  them  back.  Well,  we 
quickly  form  line  of  battle,  and  the  Yankees  are  seen  to  emerge 
from  the  woods  about  two  hundred  yards  from  us.  We  promptly 
shell  off  those  sides  of  bacon  and  sacks  of  hard-tack  that  we  had 
worried  and  tugged  with  all  day  long.  Bang,  bang,  siz,  siz. 
We  are  ordered  to  load  and  fire  promptly  and  to  hold  our  posi 
tion.  Yonder  they  come,  a  whole  division.  Our  regiment  is 
the  only  regiment  in  the  action.  They  are  crowding  us;  our 
poor  little  handful  of  men  are  being  killed  and  wounded  by 
scores.  There  is  General  George  Maney  badly  wounded  and 
being  carried  to  the  rear,  and  there  is  Moon,  of  Fulcher's  bat 
talion,  killed  dead  in  his  tracks.  We  can't  much  longer  hold  op 
position.  A  minnie  ball  passes  through  my  Bible  in  my  side 


104  CO.  II.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  BEGIMENT. 

pocket.  All  at  once  we  are  ordered  to  open  ranks.  Here  comes 
one  piece  of  artillery  from  a  Mississippi  battery,  bouncing  ten 
feet  high,  over  brush  and  logs  and  bending  down  little  trees  and 
saplings,  under  whip  and  spur,  the  horses  are  champing  the  bits, 
and  are  muddied  from  head  to  foot.  !N"ow,  quick,  quick;  look, 
the  Yankees  have  discovered  the  battery,  and  are  preparing  to 
charge  it.  Unlimber,  horses  and  caisson  to  the  rear.  ISTo.  1 
shrapnel,  load,  fire — boom,  boom;  load,  ablouyat — boom,  boom. 
I  saw  Sam  Seay  fall  badly  wounded  and  carried  to  the  rear.  I 
stopped  firing  to  look  at  Sergeant  Doyle  how  he  handled  his  gun. 
At  every  discharge  it  would  bounce,  and  turn  its  muzzle  com 
pletely  to  the  rear,  when  those  old  artillery  soldiers  would  return 
it  to  its  place — and  it  seemed  they  fired  a  shot  almost  every  ten 
seconds.  Fire,  men.  Our  muskets  roll  and  rattle,  making 
music  like  the  kettle  and  bass  drum  combined.  They  are 
checked ;  we  see  them  fall  back  to  the  woods,  and  night  throws 
her  mantle  over  the  scene.  We  fell  back  now,  and  had  to  strip 
and  wade  Chickamauga  river.  It  was  up  to  our  armpits,  and 
was  as  cold  as  charity.  We  had  to  carry  our  clothes  across  on 
the  points  of  our  bayonets.  Fires  had  been  kindled  every  few 
yards  on  the  other  side,  and  we  soon  got  warmed  up  again. 

BINGGOLD  GAP. 

I  had  got  as  far  as  Binggold  Gap,  when  I  had  unconsciously 
fallen  asleep  by  a  fire,  it  being  the  fourth  night  that  I  had  not 
slept  a  wink.  Before  I  got  to  this  fire,  however,  a  gentleman 
Avhom  I  never  saw  in  my  life — because  it  was  totally  dark  at  the 
time — handed  me  a  letter  from  the  old  folks  at  home,  and  a  good 
suit  of  clothes.  He  belonged  to  Colonel  Breckinridge's  cavalry, 
and  if  he  ever  sees  these  lines,  I  wish  to  say  to  him,  "God  bless 
you,  old  boy."  I  had  lost  every  blanket  and  vestige  of  clothing, 
except  those  I  had  on,  at  Missionary  Eidge.  I  laid  down  by  the 
fire  and  went  to  sleep,  but  how  long  I  had  slept  I  knew  not,  when 
I  felt  a  rough  hand  grab  me  and  give  me  a  shake,  and  the  fellow 
said,  "Are  you  going  to  sleep  here,  and  let  the  Yankees  cut  your 
throat  ?"  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  asked,  "Who  are  you  ?"  He 
politely  and  pleasantly,  yet  profanely,  told  me  that  he  was  Gen 
eral  Walker  (the  poor  fellow  was  killed  the  22nd  of  July,  at 


MISSIONARY   RIDGK.  105 

Atlanta),  and  that  I  had  better  get  further.  He  passed  on  and 
waked  others.  Just  then,  General  Cleburne  and  staff  rode  by 
me,  and  I  heard  one  of  his  staff  remark,  "General,  here  is  a  ditch, 
or  gully,  that  will  make  a  natural  breastwork."  All  I  heard 
General  Cleburne  say  was,  "Er,  eh,  eh !"  I  saw  General  Lucius 
E.  Folk's  brigade  form  on  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

T  went  a  little  further  and  laid  down  again  and  went  to 
sleep.  How  long  I  had  lain  there,  and  what  was  passing  over 
me,  I  know  nothing  about,  but  when  I  awoke,  here  is  what  I 
saw:  I  saw  a  long  line  of  blue  coats  marching  down  the  rail 
road  track.  The  first  thought  I  had  was,  well,  I'm  gone  up  now, 
sure ;  but  on  second  sight,  I  discovered  that  they  were  prisoners. 
Gleburne  had  had  the  doggondest  fight  of  the  war.  The  ground 
was  piled  with  dead  Yankees ;  they  were  piled  in  heaps.  The 
scene  looked  unlike  any  battlefield  I  ever  saw.  From  the  foot 
to  the  top  of  the  hill  was  covered  with  their  slain,  all  lying  on 
their  faces.  It  had  the  appearance  of  the  roof  of  a  house  shin 
gled  with  dead  Yankees.  They  were  flushed  with  victory  and 
success,  and  had  determined  to  push  forward  and  capture  the 
whole  of  the  Rebel  army,  and  set  up  their  triumphant  standard 
at  Atlanta — then  exit  Southern  Confederacy.  But  their  dead 
were  so  piled  in  their  path  at  Ringgold  Gap  that  they  could  not 
pass  them.  The  Spartans  gained  a  name  at  Thermopylae,  in 
which  Leonidas  and  the  whole  Spartan  army  were  slain  while 
defending  the  pass.  Cleburne's  division  gained  a  name  at  Ring- 
gold  Gap,  in  which  they  not  only  slew  the  victorious  army,  but 
captured  five  thousand  prisoners  besides.  That  brilliant  victory 
of  Cleburne's  made  him  not  only  the  best  general  of  the  army  of 
Tennessee,  and  covered  his  men  with  glory  and  honor  of  heroes, 
but  checked  the  advance  of  Grant's  whole  army. 

We  did  not  budge  an  inch  further  for  many  a  long  day,  but 
we  went  into  winter  quarters  right  here  at  Ringgold  Gap,  Tun 
nel  Hill  and  Dalton. 


106  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


CHAPTER  XI.— I) ALTON. 

GENERAL   JOSEPH   E.    JOHNSTON. 

General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  now  took  command  of  the 
army.  General  Bragg  was  relieved,  and  had  become  Jeff  Davis' 
war  adviser  at  Richmond,  Virginia.  We  had  followed  General 
Bragg  all  through  this  long  war.  We  had  got  sorter  used  to  his 
ways,  but  he  was  never  popular  with  his  troops.  I  felt  sorry  for 
him.  Bragg's  troops  would  have  loved  him,  if  he  had  allowed 
them  to  do  so,  for  many  a  word  was  spoken  in  his  behalf,  after 
he  had  been  relieved  of  the  command.  As  a  general  I  have 
spoken  of  him  in  these  memoirs,  not  personally.  I  try  to  state 
facts,  so  that  you  may  see,  reader,  why  our  cause  was  lost.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  Bragg  ever  did  what  he  thought  was  best.  He 
was  but  a  man,  under  the  authority  of  another. 

But  now,  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  old  Joe.  Fancy,  if 
you  please,  a  man  about  fifty  years  old,  rather  small  of  stature, 
but  firmly  and  compactly  built,  an  open  and  honest  countenance, 
and  a  keen  but  restless  black  eye,  that  seemed  to  read  your  very 
inmost  thoughts.  In  his  dress  he  was  a  perfect  dandy.  He  ever 
wore  the  very  finest  clothes  that  could  be  obtained,  carrying  out 
in  every  point  the  dress  and  paraphernalia  of  the  soldier,  as 
adopted  by  the  war  department  at  Richmond,  never  omitting 
anything,  even  to  the  trappings  of  his  horse,  bridle  and  saddle. 
His  hat  was  decorated  with  a  star  and  feather,  his  coat  with 
every  star  and  embellishment,  and  he  wore  a  bright  new  sash, 
big  gauntlets,  and  silver  spurs.  He  was  the  very  picture  of  a 
general. 

But  he  found  the  army  depleted  by  battles ;  and  worse,  yea, 
much  worse,  by  desertion.  The  men  were  deserting  by  tens  and 
hundreds,  and  I  might  say  by  thousands.  The  morale  of  the 
army  was  gone.  The  spirit  of  the  soldiers  was  crushed,  their 
hope  gone.  The  future  was  dark  and  gloomy.  They  would  not 


DALTON.  107 

% 

answer  at  roll  call.     Discipline  had  gone.     A  feeling  of  mis 
trust  pervaded  the  whole  army. 

A  train  load  of  provisions  came  into  Dalton.  The  soldiers 
stopped  it  before  it  rolled  into  the  station,  burst  open  every  car, 
and  carried  off  all  the  bacon,  meal  and  flour  that  was  on  board. 
Wild  riot  was  the  order  of  the  day;  everything  was  confusion 
worse  confounded.  When  the  news  came,  like  pouring  oil  upon 
the  troubled  waters,  that  General  Joe  E.  Johnston,  of  Virginia, 
had  taken  command  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee,  men  returned  to 
their  companies,  order  was  restored,  and  "Richard  was  himself 
again."  General  Johnston  issued  a  universal  amnesty  to  all 
soldiers  absent  without  leave.  Instead  of  a  scrimp  pattern  of 
one  day's  rations,  he  ordered  two  days'  rations  to  be  issued,  beinir 
extra  for  one  day.  He  ordered  tobacco  and  whisky  to  be  issued 
twice  a  week.  He  ordered  sugar  and  coffee  and  flour  to  be  is 
sued  instead  of  meal.  He  ordered  old  bacon  and  ham  to  be 
issued  instead  of  blue  beef.  He  ordered  new  tents  and  mar 
quees.  He  ordered  his  soldiers  new  suits  of  clothes,  shoes  and 
hats.  In  fact,  there  had  been  a  revolution,  sure  enough.  Ho 
allowed  us  what  General  Bragg  had  never  allowed  mortal  man— 
a  furlough.  He  gave  furloughs  to  one-third  of  his  army  at  a 
time,  until  the  whole  had  been  furloughed.  A  new  era  had 
dawned ;  a  new  epoch  had  been  dated.  He  passed  through  thr 
ranks  of  the  common  soldiers,  shaking  hands  with  every  one  he 
met.  He  restored  the  soldier's  pride ;  he  brought  the  manhood 
back  to  the  private's  bosom;  he  changed  the  order  of  roll-call, 
standing  guard,  drill,  and  such  nonsense  as  that.  The  revolu 
tion  was  complete.  He  was  loved,  respected,  admired;  yea. 
almost  worshipped,  by  his  troops.  I  do  not  believe  there  was  a 
soldier  in  his  army  but  would  gladly  have  died  for  him.  With 
him  everything  was  his  soldiers,  and  the  newspapers,  criticising; 
him  at  the  time,  said,  "He  would  feed  his  soldiers  if  the  country 
starved." 

We  soon  got  proud ;  the  blood  of  the  old  Cavaliers  tingled  in 
our  veins.  We  did  not  feel  that  we  were  serfs  and  vagabonds, 
We  felt  that  we  had  a  home  and  a  country  worth  fighting  for, 
and,  if  need  be,  worth  dying  for.  One  regiment  could  whip  an 


108 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


army,  and  did  do  it,  in  every  instance,  before  the  command  was 
taken  from  him  at  Atlanta.     But  of  this  another  time. 

Chaplains  were  brought  back  to  their  regiments.  Dr.  O.  T. 
Quintard  and  Rev.  C.  D.  Elliott,  and  other  chaplains,  held 
divine  services  every  Sabbath,  prayer  was  offered  every  evening 
at  retreat,  and  the  morale  of  the  army  was  better  in  every  re 
spect.  The  private  soldier  once  more  regarded  himself  a  gen 
tleman  and  a  man  of  honor.  We  were  willing  to  do  and  die  and 
dare  anything  for  our  loved  South,  and  the  Stars  and  Bars  of 
the  Confederacy.  In  addition  to  this,  General  Johnston  ordered 
his  soldiers  to  be  paid  up  every  cent  that  was  due  them,  and  a 
bounty  of  fifty  dollars  besides.  He  issued  an  order  to  his  troops 
offering  promotion  and  a  furlough  for  acts  of  gallantry  and 
bravery  on  the  field  of  battle. 

The  cloven  foot  of  tyranny  and  oppression  was  not  discern 
ible  in  the  acts  of  officers,  from  general  down  to  corporal,  as 
formerly.  Notwithstanding  all  this  grand  transformation  in 
our  affairs,  old  Joe  was  a  strict  disciplinarian.  Everything 
moved  like  clockwork.  Men  had  to  keep  their  arms  and  cloth 
ing  in  good  order.  The  artillery  was  rubbed  up  and  put  in  good 
condition.  The  wagons  were  greased,  and  the  harness  and 
hamestrings  oiled.  Extra  rations  were  issued  to  negroes  who 
were  acting  as  servants,  a  thing  unprecedented  before  in  the 
history  of  the  war. 

Well,  old  Joe  was  a  yerker.  He  took  all  the  tricks.  He. 
was  a  commander.  He  kept  everything  up  and  well  in  hand 
His  lines  of  battle  were  invulnerable.  The  larger  his  command, 
the  easier  he  could  handle  it.  When  his  army  moved,  it  was  a 
picture  of  battle,  everything  in  its  place,  as  laid  down  by  scien 
tific  military  rules.  When  a  man  was  to  be  shot,  he  was  shot 
for  the  crimes  he  had  done,  and  not  to  intimidate  and  cow  the 
living,  and  he  had  ten  times  as  many  shot  as  Bragg  had.  He  had 
seventeen  shot  at  Tunnel  Hill,  and  a  whole  company  at  Rocky- 
face  Ridge,  and  two  spies  hung  at  Ringgold  Gap,  but  they  were 
executed  for  their  crimes.  ~No  one  knew  of  it  except  those  who 
had  to  take  part  as  executioners  of  the  law.  Instead  of  the  whip 
ping  post,  he  instituted  the  pillory  and  barrel  shirt.  Get  Brutus 


DALTON.  109 

to  whistle  the  barrel  shirt  for  you.  The  pillory  was  a  new-fan 
gled  concern.  If  you  went  to  the  guard-house  of  almost  any 
regiment,  you  would  see  some  poor  fellow  with  his  head  and 
hands  sticking  through  a  board.  It  had  the  appearance  of  a 
fellow  taking  a  running  start,  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees, 
with  a  view  of  bursting  a  board  over  his  head,  but  when  the 
board  burst  his  head  and  both  his  hands  were  clamped  in  the 
bursted  places.  The  barrel  shirt  brigade  used  to  be  marched  on 
drill  and  parade.  You  could  see  a  fellow's  head  and  feet,  and 
whenever  one  of  the  barrels  would  pass,  you  would  hear  the 
universal  cry,  "Come  out  of  that  barrel,  I  see  your  head  and  feet 
sticking  out."  There  might  have  been  a  mortification  and  a 
disgrace  in  the  pillory  and  barrel  shirt  business  to  those  that  had 
to  use  them,  but  they  did  not  bruise  and  mutilate  the  physical 
man.  When  one  of  them  had  served  out  his  time  he  was  as  good 
as  newr.  Old  Joe  had  greater  military  insight  than  any  general 
of  the  South,  not  excepting  even  Lee.  He  was  the  born  soldier ; 
seemed  born  to  command.  When  his  army  moved  it  moved 
solid.  Cavalry,  artillery,  wagon  train,  and  infantry  stepped  the 
same  tread  to  the  music  of  the  march.  His  men  were  not  al 
lowed  to  be  butchered  for  glory,  and  to  have  his  name  and  a 
battle  fought,  with  the  number  of  killed  and  wounded,  go  back 
to  Richmond  for  his  own  glory.  When  he  fought,  he  fought  for 
victory,  not  for  glory.  He  could  fall  back  right  in  the  face-  of 
the  foe  as  quietly  and  orderly  as  if  on  dress  parade ;  and  when 
his  enemies  crowded  him  a  little  too  closely,  he  would  about  face 
and  give  them  a  terrible  chastisement.  He  could  not  be  taken 
by  surprise  by  any  flank  movement  of  the  enemy.  His  soldiers 
were  to  him  his  children.  He  loved  them.  They  were  never 
needlessly  sacrificed.  He  was  always  ready  to  meet  the  attack 
of  the  enemy.  When  his  line  of  battle  was  formed  it  was  like  a 
wall  of  granite.  His  adversaries  knew  him,  and  dreaded  the 
certain  death  that  awaited  them.  His  troops  were  brave;  they 
laughed  in  the  face  of  battle.  He  had  no  rear  guard  to  shoot 
down  any  one  who  ran.  They  couldn't  run ;  the  army  was 
solid.  The  veriest  coward  that  was  ever  born  became  a  brave 
man  and  a  hero  under  his  manipulation.  His  troops  had  the 


HO  CO.  H.,  FIEST  TENNESSEE  BEGIMENT. 

utmost  confidence  in  him,  and  feared  no  evil.  They  became  an 
army  of  veterans,  whose  lines  could  not  be  broken  by  the  armies 
of  the  world.  Battle  became  a  pastime  and  a  pleasure,  and  the 
rattle  of  musketry  and  roar  of  cannon  were  but  the  music  of 
victory  and  success. 

COMMISSARIES. 

Before  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  took  command  of  the 
Army  of  Tennessee,  the  soldiers  were  very  poorly  fed,  it  is  true, 
but  the  blame  was  not  entirely  attributable  to  General  Bragg. 
He  issued  enough  and  more  than  enough  to  have  bountifully  fed 
his  army,  but  there  was  a  lot  of  men  in  the  army,  generally  de 
nominated  commissaries,  and  their  "gizzards,"  as  well  as  fingers, 
had  to  be  greased.  There  was  commissary-general,  then  corps 
commissary,  then  division  commissary,  then  brigade  commissary, 
then  regimental  commissary,  then  company  commissary.  Now, 
you  know  were  you  to  start  a  nice  hindquarter  of  beef,  which 
had  to  pass  through  all  these  hands,  and  every  commissary  take 
a  choice  steak  and  roast  off  it,  there  would  be  but  little  ever  reach 
the  company,  and  the  poor  man  among  the  Johnnies  had  to  feast 
like  bears  in  winter — they  had  to  suck  their  paws — but  the  rich 
Johnnies  who  had  money  could  go  to  almost  any  of  the  gentle 
men  denominated  commissaries  (they  ought  to  have  been  called 
cormorants)  and  buy  of  them  much  nice  fat  beef  and  meal  and 
flour  and  sugar  and  coffee  and  nice  canvassed  hams,  etc.  I  have 
done  it  many  times.  They  were  keeping  back  the  rations  that 
had  been  issued  to  the  army,  and  lining  their  own  pockets.  But 
when  General  Johnston  took  command,  this  manipulating  busi 
ness  played  out.  Rations  would  "spile"  on  their  hands. 
Othello's  occupation  was  gone.  They  received  only  one  hundred 
and  forty  dollars  a  month  then,  and  the  high  private  got  plenty 
to  eat,  and  Mr.  Cormorant  quit  making  as  much  money  as  he 
had  heretofore  done.  Were  you  to  go  to  them  and  make  com 
plaint,  they  would  say,  "I  have  issued  regular  army  rations  to 
your  company,  and  what  is  left  over  is  mine/'  and  they  were 
mighty  exact  about  it. 

DALTON. 

We  went  into  winter  quarters  at   Dal  ton,   and  remained 


D  ALTON.  Ill 

there  during  the  cold,  bad  winter  of  1863-64,  about  four  months. 
The  usual  routine  of  army  life  was  carried  on  day  by  day,  with 
not  many  incidents  to  vary  the  monotony  of  camp  life.  But 
occasionally  the  soldiers  would  engage  in  a  snow  ball  battle,  in 
which  generals,  colonels,  captains  and  privates  all  took  part. 
They  would  usually  divide  off  into  two  grand  divisions,  one  line 
naturally  becoming  the  attacking  party,  and  the  other  the  de 
fensive.  The  snow  balls  would  begin  to  fly  hither  and  thither, 
with  an  occasional  knock  down,  and  sometimes  an  ugly  wound, 
where  some  mean  fellow  had  enclosed  a  rock  in  his  snow  ball. 
It  was  fun  while  it  lasted,  but  after  it  was  over  the  soldiers  were 
wet,  cold  and  uncomfortable.  I  have  seen  charges  and  attacks 
and  routes  and  stampedes,  etc.,  but  before  the  thing  was  over, 
one  side  did  not  know  one  from  the  other.  It  was  a  general 
knock  down  and  drag  out  affair. 

SHOOTING  A  DESERTER. 

One  morning  I  went  over  to  Deshler's  brigade  of  Cleburne's 
division  to  see  my  brother-in-law,  Dr.  J.  E.  Dixon.  The  snow 
was  on  the  ground,  and  the  boys  were  hard  at  it,  "snow  balling." 
While  I  was  standing  looking  on,  a  file  of  soldiers  marched  by 
me  with  a  poor  fellow  on  his  way  to  be  shot.  He  was  blindfolded 
and  set  upon  a  stump,  and  the  detail  formed.  The  command, 
"Ready,  aim,  fire!"  was  given,  the  volley  discharged,  and  the 
prisoner  fell  off  the  stump.  He  had  not  been  killed.  It  was 
the  sergeant's  duty  to  give  the  coup  d'etat,  should  not  the  pris 
oner  be  slain.  The  sergeant  ran  up  and  placed  the  muzzle  of  his 
gun  at  the  head  of  the  poor,  pleading,  and  entreating  wretch,  his 
gun  was  discharged,  and  the  wretched  man  only  powder-burned, 
the  gun  being  one  that  had  been  loaded  with  powder  only.  The 
whole  affair  had  to  be  gone  over  again.  The  soldiers  had  to  re 
load  and  form  and  fire.  The  culprit  was  killed  stone  dead  this 
time.  He  had  no  sooner  been  taken  up  and  carried  off  to  be 
buried,  than  the  soldiers  were  throwing  snow  balls  as  hard  as 
ever,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

TEN  MEN  KILLED  AT  THE   MOURNERS^  BENCH. 

At  this  place  (Dalton)  a  revival  of  religion  sprang  up,  and 


112  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

there  was  divine  service  every  day  and  night.  Soldiers  became 
serious  on  the  subject  of  their  souls'  salvation.  In  sweeping  the 
streets  and  cleaning  up,  an  old  tree  had  been  set  on  fire,  and  had 
been  smoking  and  burning  for  several  days,  and  nobody  seemed 
to  notice  it.  That  night  there  was  service  as  usual,  and  the 
singing  and  sermon  were  excellent.  The  sermon  was  preached 
by  Rev.  J.  G.  Bolton,  chaplain  of  the  Fiftieth  Tennessee  Regi- 
ment,  assisted  by  Rev.  C.  D.  Elliott,  the  services  being  held  in 
the  Fourth  Tennessee  Regiment.  As  it  was  the  custom  to  "call 
up  mourners,77  a  long  bench  had  been  placed  in  proper  position 
for  them  to  kneel  down  at.  Ten  of  them  were  kneeling  at  this 
mourners7  bench,  pouring  out  their  souls  in  prayer  to  God,  ask 
ing  Him  for  the  forgiveness  of  their  sins,  and  for  the  salvation 
of  their  souls,  for  Jesus  Christ  their  Redeeemer7s  sake,  when  the 
burning  tree,  without  any  warning,  fell  with  a  crash  right  across 
the  ten  mourners,  crushing  and  killing  them  instantly.  God  had 
heard  their  prayers.  Their  souls  had  been  carried  to  heaven. 
Hereafter,  henceforth,  and  forevermore,  there  was  no  more 
marching,  battling,  or  camp  duty  for  them.  They  had  joined 
the  army  of  the  hosts  of  heaven. 

By  order  of  the  general,  they  were  buried  with  great  pomp 
and  splendor,  that  is,  for  those  times.  Every  one  of  them  was 
buried  in  a  coffin.  Brass  bands  followed,  playing  the  "Dead 
March,77  and  platoons  fired  over  their  graves.  It  was  a  soldier's 
funeral.  The  beautiful  burial  service  of  the  Episcopal  church 
was  read  by  Rev.  Allen  Tribble.  A  hymn  was  sung,  and  prayer 
offered,  and  then  their  graves  were  filled  as  we  marched  sadly 
back  to  camp. 

DE.   C.   T.   QUINTAKD. 

Dr.  C.  T.  Quintard  was  our  chaplain  for  the  First  Tennes 
see  Regiment  during  the  whole  war,  and  he  stuck  to  us  from  the 
beginning  even  unto  the  end.  During  week  days  he  ministered 
to'  us  physically,  and  on  Sundays  spiritually.  He  was  one  of 
the  purest  and  best  men  I  ever  knew.  He  would  march  and 
carry  his  knapsack  every  day  the  same  as  any  soldier.  He  had 
one  text  he  preached  from  which  I  remember  now.  It  was  "the 
flying  scroll.77  He  said  there  was  a  flying  scroll  continually 


DALTON.  11 3 

passing  over  our  heads,  which  was  like  the  reflections  in  a  look 
ing-glass,  and  all  of  our  deeds,  both  good  and  bad,  were  written 
upon  it.  He  was  a  good  doctor  of  medicine,  as  well  as  a  good 
doctor  of  divinity,  and  above  either  of  these,  he  was  a  good  man 
per  se.  Every  old  soldier  of  the  First  Tennessee  Regiment  will 
remember  Dr.  0.  T.  Quintard  with  the  kindest  and  most  sincere 
emotions  of  love  and  respect.  He  would  go  off  into  the  country 
and  get  up  for  our  regiment  clothing  and  provisions,  and  wrote 
a  little  prayer  and  song  book,  which  he  had  published,  and  gave 
it  to  the  soldiers.  I  learned  that  little  prayer  and  song  book  off 
by  heart,  and  have  a  copy  of  it  in  my  possession  yet,  which  I 
would  not  part  with  for  any  consideration.  Dr.  Quintard7 s 
nature  was  one  of  love.  He  loved  the  soldiers,  and  the  soldiers 
loved  him,  and  deep  down  in  his  heart  of  hearts  was  a  deep  and 
lasting  love  for  Jesus  Christ,  the  Redeemer  of  the  world,  im 
planted  there  by  God  the  Father  Himself. 

Y'S  YOU  GOT  MY  HOG  ? 

One  day,  a  party  of  "us  privates''  concluded  we  would  go 
across  the  Conasauga  river  on  a  raid.  We  crossed  over  in  a 
canoe.  After  traveling  for  some  time,  we  saw  a  neat  looking 
farm  house,  and  sent  one  of  the  party  forward  to  reconnoiter. 
He  returned  in  a  few  minutes  and  announced  that  he  had  found 
a  fine  fat  sow  in  a  pen  near  the  house.  Now,  the  plan  we 
formed  was  for  two  of  us  to  go  into  the  house  and  keep  the 
inmates  interested  and  the  other  was  to  toll  and  drive  off  the 
hog.  I  was  one  of  the  party  which  went  into  the  house.  There 
was  no  one  there  but  an  old  lady  and  her  sick  and  widowed 
daughter.  They  invited  us  in  very  pleasantly  and  kindly,  and 
soon  prepared  us  a  very  nice  and  good  dinner.  The  old  lady 
told  us  of  all  her  troubles  and  trials.  Her  husband  had  died 
before  the  war,  and  she  had  three  sons  in  the  army,  two  of  whom 
had  been  killed,  and  the  youngest,  who  had  been  conscripted, 
was  taken  with  the  camp  fever  and  died  in  the  hospital  at  At 
lanta,  and  she  had  nothing  to  subsist  upon,  after  eating  up  what 
they  then  had.  I  was  much  interested,  and  remained  a  little 
while  after  my  comrade  had  left.  I  soon  went  out,  having  made 


114  CO.    H.,    FIKST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

up  my  mind  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  hog  affair.  I  did 
not  know  how  to  act.  I  was  in  a  bad  fix.  I  had  heard  the  gun 
fire  and  knew  its  portent.  I  knew  the  hog  was  dead,  and  went 
on  up  the  road,  and  soon  overtook  my  two  comrades  with  the 
hog,  which  had  been  skinned  and  cut  up,  and  was  being  carried 
on  a  pole  between  them.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  On  look 
ing  back  I  saw  the  old  lady  coming  and  screaming  at  the  top  of 
her  voice,  "You  got  my  hog!  You  got  my  hog!"  It  was  too 
late  to  back  out  now.  We  had  the  hog,  and  had  to  make  the 
most  of  it,  even  if  we  did  ruin  a  needy  and  destitute  family. 
We  went  on  until  we  came  to  the  Conasauga  river,  when  lo  and 
behold!  the  canoe  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  It  was 
dark  then,  and  getting  darker,  and  what  was  to  be  done  we  did 
not  know.  The  weather  was  as  cold  as  blue  blazes,  and  spit 
ting  snow  from  the  northwest.  That  river  had  to  be  crossed 
that  night.  I  undressed  and  determined  to  swim  it,  and  went  in> 
but  the  little  thin  ice  at  the  bank  cut  my  feet.  I  waded  in  a 
little  further,  but  soon  found  I  would  cramp  if  I  tried  to  swim 
it.  I  came  out  and  put  my  clothes  on,  and  thought  of  a  gate 
about  a  mile  back.  We  went  back  and  took  the  gate  off  its 
hinges  and  carried  it  to  the  river  and  put  it  in  the  water,  but  soon 
found  out  that  all  three  of  us  could  not  ride  on  it ;  so  one  of  the 
party  got  on  it  and  started  across.  He  did  very  well  until  he 
came  to  the  other  bank,  which  was  a  high  bluff,  and  if  he  got  off 
the  center  of  the  gate  it  would  capsize  and  he  would  get  a  duck 
ing.  He  could  not  get  off  the  gate.  I  told  him  to  pole  the  gate 
up  to  the  bank,  so  that  one  side  would  rest  on  the  bank,  and  then 
make  a  quick  run  for  the  bank.  He  thought  he  had  got  the  gate 
about  the  right  place,  and  then  made  a  run,  and  the  gate  went 
under  and  so  did  he,  in  water  ten  feet  deep.  My  comrade, 
Fount  C.,  who  was  with  me  on  the  bank,  laughed,  I  thought, 
until  he  had  hurt  himself;  but  with  me,  I  assure  you,  it  was 
a  mighty  sickly  grin,  and  with  the  other  one,  Barkley  J.,  it  was 
anything  but  a  laughing  matter.  To  me  he  seemed  a  hero. 
Barkley  did  about  to  liberate  me  from  a  very  unpleasant  posi 
tion.  He  soon  returned  with  the  canoe,  and  we  crossed  the  river 
with  the  hog.  We  worried  and  tugged  with  it,  and  got  it  to  camp 
just  before  daylight. 


DALTON.  115 

I  had  a  guilty  conscience,  I  assure  you.  The  hog  was 
cooked,  but  I  did  not  eat  a  piece  of  it.  I  felt  that  I  had  rather 
starve,  and  I  believe  that  it  would  have  choked  me  to  death  if  T 
had  attempted  it. 

A  short  time  afterward  an  old  citizen  from  Maury  county 
visited  me.  My  father  sent  me,  by  him,  a  silver  watch — which 
I  am  wearing  to-day — and  eight  hundred  dollars  in  old  issue 
Confederate  money.  I  took  two  hundred  dollars  of  the  money, 
and  had  it  funded  for  new  issue,  33  1-3  cents  discount.  The 
other  six  hundred  I  sent  to  Vance  Thompson,  then  on  duty  at 
Montgomery,  with  instructions  to  send  it  to  my  brother,  Dave 
Watkins,  Uncle  Asa  Freeman,  and  J.  E.  Dixon,  all  of  whom 
were  in  Wheeler's  cavalry,  at  some  other  point — I  knew  not 
where.  After  getting  my  money,  I  found  that  I  had  $133.33  1-3. 
I  could  not  rest.  I  took  one  hundred  dollars,  new  issue,  and 
going  by  my  lone  self  back  to  the  old  lady's  house,  I  said, 
"Madam,  some  soldiers  were  here  a  short  time  ago,  and  took 
your  hog.  I  was  one  of  that  party,  and  I  wish  to  pay  you  for 
it.  What  was  it  worth  ?"  "Well,  sir,"  says  she,  "money  is  of 
no  value  to  me ;  I  cannot  get  any  article  that  I  wish ;  I  would 
much  rather  have  the  hog."  Says  I,  "Madam,  that  is  an  impos 
sibility;  your  hog  is  dead  and  eat  up,  and  I  have  come  to  pay 
you  for  it."  The  old  lady's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  said 
that  she  was  perfectly  willing  to  give  the  soldiers  everything  she 
had,  and  if  she  thought  it  had  done  us  any  good,  she  would  not 
charge  anything  for  it. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "Madam,  here  is  a  hundred  dollar,  new  issue, 
Confederate  bill.  Will  this  pay  you  for  your  hog?"  "Well, 
sir,"  she  says,  drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  her  cheeks 
flushed  and  her  eyes  flashing,  "I  do  not  want  your  money.  I 
Avould  feel  that  it  was  blood  money."  I  saw  that  there  was  no 
further  use  to  offer  it  to  her.  I  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  the 
conversation  turned  upon  other  subjects. 

I  helped  the  old  lady  catch  a  chicken  (an  old  hen — about 
the  last  she  had)  for  dinner,  went  with  her  in  the  garden  and 
pulled  a  bunch  of  eschalots,  brought  two  buckets  of  water,  and 
cut  and  brought  enough  wood  to  last  several  days. 


116  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

After  awhile,  she  invited  me  to  dinner,  and  after  dinner  I 
sat  down  by  her  side,  took  her  old  hand  in  mine,  and  told  her  the 
whole  affair  of  the  hog,  from  beginning  to  end ;  how  sorry  I  was, 
and  how  I  did  not  eat  any  of  that  hog ;  and  asked  her  as  a  special 
act  of  kindness  and  favor  to  me,  to  take  the  hundred  dollars ;  that 
I  felt  bad  about  it,  and  if  she  would  take  it,  it  would  ease  my 
conscience.  I  laid  the  money  on  the  table  and  left.  I  have 
never  in  my  life  made  a  raid  upon  anybody  else. 

TARGET  SHOOTING. 

By  some  hook,  or  crook,  or  blockade  running,  or  smuggling, 
or  Mason  and  Slidell,  or  Raphael  Semmes,  or  something  of  the 
sort,  the  Confederate  States  government  had  come  in  possession 
of  a  small  number  of  Whitworth  guns,  the  finest  long  range  guns 
in  the  world,  and  a  monopoly  by  the  English  government.  They 
were  to  be  given  to  the  best  shots  in  the  army.  One  day  Captain 
Joe  P.  Lee  and  Company  H  went  out  to  shoot  at  a  target  for  the 
gun.  We  all  wanted  the  gun,  because  if  we  got  it  we  would  be 
sharpshooters,  and  be  relieved  from  camp  duty,  etc. 

All  the  generals  and  officers  came  out  to  see  us  shoot.  The 
mark  was  put  up  about  five  hundred  yards  on  a  hill,  and  each  of 
us  had  three  shots.  Every  shot  that  was  fired  hit  the  board,  but 
there  was  one  man  who  came  a  little  closer  to  the  spot  than  any 
other  one,  and  the  Whitworth  was  awarded  him ;  and  as  we  just 
turned  round  to  go  back  to  camp,  a  buck  rabbit  jumped  up,  and 
was  streaking  it  as  fast  as  he  could  make  tracks,  all  the  boys 
whooping  and  yelling  as  hard  as  they  could,  when  Jimmy  Web 
ster  raised  his  gun  and  pulled  down  on  him,  and  cut  the  rabbit's 
head  entirely  off  with  a  minnie  ball  right  back  of  his  ears.  He 
was  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  off.  It  might  have  been 
an  accidental  shot,  but  General  Leonidas  Polk  laughed  very 
heartily  afrthe  incident,  and  I  heard  him  ask  one  of  his  staff  if 
the  Whitworth  gun  had  been  awarded.  The  staff  officer  re 
sponded  that  it  had,  and  that  a  certain  man  in  Colonel  Farquhar- 
son's  regiment — the  Fourth  Tennessee — was  the  successful  con 
testant,  and  I  heard  General  Polk  remark,  "I  wish  I  had 
another  gun  to  give,  I  would  give  it  to  the  young  man  that  shot 
the  rabbit's  head  off." 


DALTON.  117 

None  of  our  regiment  got  a  Whitworth,  but  it  has  been  sub 
sequently  developed  that  our  regiment  had  some  of  the  finest 
shots  in  it  the  world  ever  produced.  For  instance,  George  and 
Mack  Campbell,  of  Maury  county ;  Billy  Watkins,  of  Nashville, 
and  Colonel  H.  R.  Field,  and  many  others,  who  I  cannot  now 
recall  to  mind  in  this  rapid  sketch. 

UNCLE  ZACK  AND  AUNT  DAPHNE. 

While  at  this  place,  I  went  out  one  day  to  hunt  some  one  to 
wash  my  clothes  for  me.  I  never  was  a  good  washerwoman.  I 
could  cook,  bring  water  and  cut  wood,  but  never  was  much  on 
the  wash.  In  fact,  it  was  an  uphill  business  for  me  to  wash  up 
"the  things"  after  "grub  time"  in  our  mess. 

I  took  my  clothes  and  started  out,  and  soon  came  to  a  little 
old  negro  hut.  I  went  in  and  says  to  an  old  negress,  "Aunty,  I 
would  like  for  you  to  do  a  little  washing  for  me."  The  old  crea 
ture  was  glad  to  get  it,  as  I  agreed  to  pay  her  what  it  was  worth. 
Her  name  was  Aunt  Daphne,  and  if  she  had  been  a  politician, 
she  would  have  been  a  success.  I  do  not  remember  of  a  more 
fluent  "conversationalist"  in  my  life.  Her  tongue  seemed  to  be 
on  a  balance,  and  both  ends  were  trying  to  out-talk  the  other — 
but  she  was  a  good  woman.  Her  husband  was  named  Uncle 
Zack,  and  was  the  exact  counterpart  of  Aunt  Daphne.  He 
always  sat  in  the  chimney  corner,  his  feet  in  the  ashes,  and  gen 
erally  fast  asleep.  I  am  certain  I  never  saw  an  uglier  or  more 
baboonish  face  in  my  life,  but  Uncle  Zack  was  a  good  Christian, 
and  I  would  sometimes  wake  him  up  to  hear  him  talk  Christian. 

He  said  that  when  he  "fessed  'ligin,  de  debil  come  dare  one 
nite,  and  say,  'Zack,  come  go  wid  me,7  and  den  de  debil  tek  me 
to  hell,  and  jes  stretch  a  wire  across  hell,  and  hang  me  up  jes 
same  like  a  side  of  bacon,  through  the  tongue.  Well,  dar  I  hang 
like  de  bacon,  and  de  grease  kept  droppin'  down,  and  would 
1)1  aze  up  all  'round  me.  I  jes  stay  dar  and  burn ;  and  after  while 
dp  debil  come  'round  wid  his  gun,  and  say,  'Zack,  I  gwine  to 
shoot  you/  and  jes  as  he  raise  de  gun,  T  jes  jerk  loose  from  dat 
wire,  and  I  jes  fly  to  heben." 

"Fly !  did  you  have  wings  ?" 

"O,  yes,  sir,  I  had  wings." 


118  CO.    II.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

"Well,  after  you  got  to  heaven,  what  did  you  do  then  ?" 

"Well,  I  jes  went  to  eatin'  grass  like  all  de  balance  of  de 
lams." 

"What !  were  they  eating  grass  ?" 

"O,  yes,  sir." 

"Well,  what  color  were  the  lambs,  Uncle  Zack  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  some  of  dem  was  white,  and  some  black,  and 
some  spotted." 

"Were  there  no  old  rams  or  ewes  among  them  ?" 

"No,  sir ;  dey  was  all  lams." 

"Well,  Uncle  Zack,  what  sort  of  a  looking  lamb  were  you  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  was  sort  of  specklish  and  brown  like." 

Old  Zack  begins  to  get  sleepy. 

"Did  you  have  horns,  Uncle  Zack  ?" 

"Well,  some  of  dem  had  little  horns  dat  look  like  dey  was 
jes  sorter  sproutin'  like." 

Zack  begins  to  nod  and  doze  a  little. 

"Well,  how  often  did  they  shear  the  lambs,  Uncle  Zack?" 

"Well,  w-e-1-1,  w — e — 1 — 1 — ,"  and  Uncle  Zack  was  fast 
asleep  and  snoring,  and  dreaming  no  doubt  of  the  beautiful  pas 
tures  glimmering  above  the  clouds  of  heaven. 

RED  TAPE. 

While  here  I  applied  for  a  furlough.  Now,  reader,  here 
commenced  a  series  of  red  tapeism  that  always  had  characterized 
the  officers  under  Braggism.  It  had  to  go  through  every  offi 
cer's  hands,  from  corporal  up,  before  it  Avas  forwarded  to  the 
next  officer  of  higher  grade,  and  so  it  passed  through  every  offi 
cer's  hands.  He  felt  it  his  sworn  and  bound  duty  to  find  some 
informality  in  it,  and  it  was  brought  back  for  correction  accord 
ing  to  his  notions,  you  see.  Well,  after  getting  the  corporal's 
consent  and  approval,  it  goes  up  to  the  sergeant.  It  ain't  right ! 
Some  informality,  perhaps,  in  the  wording  and  spelling.  Then 
the  lieutenants  had  to  have  a  say  in  it,  and  when  it  got  to  the 
captain,  it  had  to  be  read  and  re-read,  to  see  that  every  "i"  was 
dotted  and  "t"  crossed,  but  returned  because  there  was  one  word 
that  he  couldn't  make  out.  Then  it  was  forwarded  to  the 
colonel.  He  would  snatch  it  out  of  your  hand,  grit  his  teeth, 


DALTON.  119 

and  say,  "D — n  it;"  feel  in  his  vest  pocket  and  take  out  a  lead 
pencil,  and  simply  write  "app."  for  approved.  This  would  also 
be  returned,  with  instructions  that  the  colonel  must  write  "ap 
proved"  in  a  plain  hand,  and  with  pen  and  ink.  Then  it  went 
to  the  brigadier-general.  He  would  be  engaged  in  a  game  of 
poker,  and  would  tell  you  to  call  again,  as  he  didn't  have  time  to 
bother  with  those  small  affairs  at  present.  "I'll  see  your  five 
and  raise  you  ten."  "I  have  a  straight  flush."  "Take  the  pot." 
After  setting  him  out,  and  when  it  wasn't  his  deal,  I  get  up  and 
walk  around,  always  keeping  the  furlough  in  sight.  After  read 
ing  carefully  the  furlough,  he  says,  "Well,  sir  you  have  failed  to 
get  the  adjutant's  name  to  it.  You  ought  to  have  the  colonel  and 
adjutant,  and  you  must  go  back  and  get  their  signatures."  After 
this,  you  go  to  the  major-general.  He  is  an  old  aristocratic  fel 
low,  who  never  smiles,  and  tries  to  look  as  sour  as  vinegar.  He 
looks  at  the  furlough,  and  looks  down  at  the  ground,  holding  the 
furlough  in  his  hand  in  a  kind  of  dreamy  way,  and  then  says, 
"Well,  sir,  this  is  all  informal."  You  say,  "Well,  General,  what 
is  the  matter  with  it?"  He  looks  at  you  as  if  he  hadn't  heard 
you,  and  repeats  very  slowly,  "Well,  sir,  this  is  informal,"  and 
hands  it  back  to  you.  You  take  it,  feeling  all  the  while  that  you 
wished  you  had  not  applied  for  a  furlough,  and  by  summoning 
all  the  fortitude  that  you  possess,  you  say  in  a  husky  and  choking 
voice,  "Well,  general  (you  say  the  "general"  in  a  sort  of  gulp 
and  dry  swallow),  what's  the  matter  with  the  furlough?"  You 
look  askance,  and  he  very  languidly  re-takes  the  furlough  and 
glances  over  it,  orders  his  negro  boy  to  go  and  feed  his  horse, 
asks  his  cook  how  long  it  will  be  before  dinner,  hallooes  at  some 
fellow  away  down  the  hill  that  he  would  like  for  him  to  call  at  4 
o'clock  this  evening,  and  tells  his  adjutant  to  sign  the  furlough. 
The  adjutant  tries  to  be  smart  and  polite,  smiles  a  smole  both 
child-like  and  bland,  rolls  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  winks  one  eye 
at  you,  gets  astraddle  of  a  "camp-stool,  whistles  a  little  stanza  of 
schottische,  and  with  a  big  flourish  of  his  pen,  writes  the  major- 
general's  name  in  small  letters,  and  his  own — the  adjutant's — 
in  very  large  letters,  bringing  the  pen  under  it  with  tremendous 
flourishes,  and  writes  approved  and  forwarded.  You  feel  re- 


120 


CO.    iL.,   FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 


lieved.  You  feel  that  the  anaconda's  coil  had  been  suddenly 
realxed.  Then  you  start  out  to  the  lieutenant-general ;  you  find 
him.  He  is  in  a  very  learned  and  dignified  conversation  about 
the  war  in  Chili.  Well,  you  get  very  anxious  for  the  war  in 
Chili  to  get  to  an  end.  The  general  pulls  his  side-whiskers, 
looks  wise,  and  tells  his  adjutant  to  look  over  it,  and,  if  correct, 
sign  it.  The  adjutant  does  not  deign  to  condescend  to  notice 
you.  He  seems  to  be  full  of  gumbo  or  calf -tail  soup,  and  does 
not  wish  his  equanimity  disturbed.  He  takes  hold  of  the  docu 
ment,  and  writes  the  lieutenant-general's  name,  and  finishes  his 
own  name  while  looking  in  another  direction — approved  and 
forwarded.  Then  you  take  it  up  to  the  general ;  the  guard  stops 
you  in  a  very  formal  way,  and  asks,  "What  do  you  want  ?"  You 
tell  him.  He  calls  for  the  orderly;  the  orderly  gives  it  to  the 
adjutant,  and  you  are  informed  that  it  will  be  sent  to  your 
colonel  to-night,  and  given  to  you  at  roll-call  in  the  morning, 
^"ow,  reader,  the  above  is  a  pretty  true  picture  of  how  I  got  my 
furlough. 

I  GET  A  FURLOUGH. 

After  going  through  all  the  formality  of  red-tapeism,  and 
being  snubbed  with  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee,  I  got  my  fur 
lough.  When  it  started  out,  it  was  on  the  cleanest  piece  of  paper 
that  could  be  found  in  Buck  Lanier's  sutler's  store.  After  it 
came  back,  it  was  pretty  well  used  up,  and  looked  as  if  it  had 
gone  through  a  very  dark  place,  and  been  beat  with  a  soot-bag. 
But,  anyhow,  I  know  that  I  did  not  appreciate  my  furlough 
half  as  much  as  I  thought  I  would.  I  felt  like  returning  it  to 
the  gentlemen  with  my  compliments,  declining  their  kind  fa 
vors.  I  felt  that  it  was  unwillingly  given,  and,  as  like  begets 
like,  it  was  very  unwillingly  received.  Honestly,  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  made  a  bad  bargain,  and  was  keen  to  rue  the  trade.  I  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  it;  but,  anyhow,  I  thought  I  would 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain.  I  got  on  the  cars  at  Dalton — 
now,  here  is  a  thing  that  I  had  long  since  forgotten  about — it  was 
the  first  first-class  passenger  car  that  I  had  been  in  since  I  had 
been  a  soldier.  The  conductor  passed  around,  and  handed  me  a 
ticket  with  these  words  on  it : 


DALTON.  121 

"If  you  wish  to  travel  with  ease, 
Keep  this  ticket  in  sight,  if  you  please; 
And  if  you  wish  to  ttike  a  nap, 
Just  stick  this  in  your  hat  or  cap." 

This  was  the  poetry,  reader,  that  was  upon  the  ticket.  The 
conductor  called  around  every  now  and  then,  especially  if  you 
were  asleep,  to  look  at  your  ticket,  and  every  now  and  then  a 
captain  and  a  detail  of  three  soldiers  would  want  to  look  at  your 
furlough.  I  thought  before  I  got  to  Selma,  Alabama,  that  I 
wished  the  ticket  and  furlough  both  were  in  the  bottom  of  the 
ocean,  and  myself  back  in  camp.  Everywhere  I  went  some  one 
wanted  to  see  my  furlough.  Before  I  got  my  furlough,  I 
thought  it  sounded  big.  Furlough  was  a  war  word,  and  I  did 
not  comprehend  its  meaning  until  I  got  one.  The  very  word 
•'furlough'7  made  me  sick  then.  I  feel  fainty  now  whenever  I 
think  of  furlough.  It  has  a  sickening  sound  in  the  ring  of  it — 
"furlough!"  "Furloch,"  it  ought  to  have  been  called.  Every 
man  I  met  had  a  furlough ;  in  f act,  it  seemed  to  have  the  very 
double-extract  of  romance  about  it — "fur  too,  eh?"  Men  who 
I  knew  had  never  been  in  the  army  in  their  lives,  all  had  fur 
loughs.  Where  so  many  men  ever  got  furloughs  from  I  never 
knew;  but  I  know  now.  They  were  like  the  old  bachelor  who 
married  the  widow  with  ten  children — he  married  a  "ready- 
made"  family.  They  had  ready-made  furloughs.  But  I  have 
said  enough  on  the  furlough  question ;  it  enthralled  me — let  it 
pass ;  don't  want  any  more  furloughs.  But  while  on  my  fur 
lough,  I  got  with  Captain  G.  M.  V.  Kinzer,  a  fine-dressed  and 
handsome  cavalry  captain,  whom  all  the  ladies  (as  they  do  at 
the  present  day),  fell  in  love  with.  The  captain  and  myself 
were  great  friends.  The  captain  gave  me  his  old  coat  to  act 
captain  in,  but  the  old  thing  wouldn't  act.  I  would  keep  the 
collar  turned  down.  One  night  we  went  to  call  on  a  couple  of 
beautiful  and  interesting  ladies  near  Selma.  We  chatted  the 
iiirls  until  the  "wee  sma'  hours"  of  morning,  and  when  the  young 
ladies  retired,  remarked  that  they  would  send  a  servant  to  show 
us  to  our  room.  We  waited ;  no  servant  came.  The  captain 
and  myself  snoozed  it  out  as  best  we  could.  About  daylight  the 
next  morning  the  captain  and  myself  thought  that  we  would  ap 
pear  as  if  we  had  risen  very  early,  and  began  to  move  about,  and 


122  CO.    II.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

opening  the  door,  there  lay  a  big  black  negro  on  his  knees  and 
face.  Now,  reader,  what  do  you  suppose  that  negro  was  doing  ? 
You  could  not  guess  in  a  week.  The  black  rascal!  hideous! 
terrible  to  contemplate  !  vile !  outrageous  !  Well,  words  cannot 
express  it.  What  do  you  suppose  he  was  doing  ?  He  was  fast 
asleep.  He  had  come  thus  far,  and  could  go  no  further,  and 
fell  asleep.  There  is  where  the  captain  and  myself  found  him 
at  daylight  the  next  morning.  We  left  for  Selma  immediately 
after  breakfast,  leaving  the  family  in  ignorance  of  the  occur 
rence.  The  captain  and  myself  had  several  other  adventures, 
but  the  captain  always  had  the  advantage  of  me ;  he  had  the 
good  clothes,  and  the  good  looks,  and  got  all  the  good  presents 
from  the  pretty  young  ladies — well,  you  might  say,  "cut  me 
out"  on  all  occasions.  "That's  what  makes  me  'spise  a  fur 
lough."  But  then  furlough  sounds  big,  you  know. 


CHAPTER  XII.— HUNDRED  DAYS'  BATTLE. 

ROCKY  FACE  RIDGE. 

When  I  got  back  to  Dalton,  I  found  the  Yankee  army  ad 
vancing;  they  were  at  Rocky  Face  Ridge.  Now,  for  old  Joe's 
generalship.  We  have  seen  him  in  camp,  now  we  will  see  him  in 
action.  We  are  marched  to  meet  the  enemy;  we  occupy  Tur 
ner's  Gap  at  Tunnel  Hill.  Now,  come  on,  Mr.  Yank — we  are 
keen  for  an  engagement.  It  is  like  a  picnic;  the  soldiers  are 
ruddy  and  fat,  and  strong;  whoop!  whoop!  hurrah!  come  on, 
Mr.  Yank.  We  form  line  of  battle  on  top  of  Rocky  Face  Ridge, 
and  here  we  are  face  to  face  with  the  enemy.  Why  don't  you 
unbottle  your  thunderbolts  and  dash  us  to  pieces  \  Ha  !  here  it 
comes;  the  boom  of  cannon  and  the  bursting  of  a  shell  in  our 


128 

midst.  Ha  !  ha  !  give  us  another  blizzard  !  Boom  !  boom  ! 
That's  all  right,  you  ain't  hurting  nothing. 

"Hold  on,  boys,"  says  a  sharpshooter,  armed  with  a  Whit- 
worth  gun,  "I'll  stop  that  racket.  Wait  until  I  see  her  smoke 
again."  Boom!  boom!  the  keen  crack  of  the  Whitworth  rings 
upon  the  frosty  morning  air ;  the  cannoneers  are  seen  to  lie 
down;  something  is  going  on.  "Yes,  yonder  is  a  fellow  being 
carried  off  on  a  litter."  Bang !  bang !  goes  the  Whitworth,  and 
the  battery  is  seen  to  limber  to  the  rear.  What  next?  a  yell! 
What  does  this  yell  mean  ?  A  charge  right  up  the  hill,  and  a 
little  sharp  skirmish  for  a  few  moments.  We  can  see  the  Yan 
kee  line.  They  are  resting  on  their  arms.  The  valley  below  is 
full  of  blue  coats,  but  a  little  too  far  off  to  do  any  execution. 

Old  Joe  walks  along  the  line.  He  happens  to  see  the  blue 
coats  in  the  valley,  in  plain  view.  Company  H  is  ordered  to  fire 
on  them.  We  take  deliberate  aim  and  fire  a  solid  volley  of  min- 
nie  balls  into  their  midst.  We  see  a  terrible  eonsplutterment 
among  them,  and  know  that  we  have  killed  and  wounded  several 
of  Sherman's  incendiaries.  They  seem  to  get  mad  at  our  audac 
ity,  and  ten  pieces  of  cannon  are  brought  up,  and  pointed  right 
toward  us.  We  see  the  smoke  boil  up,  and  a  moment  afterwards 
the  shell  is  roaring  and  bursting  right  among  us.  Ha  !  ha !  ha ! 
that's  funny — we  love  the  noise  of  battle.  Captain  Joe  P.  Lee 
orders  us  to  load  and  fire  at  will  upon  these  batteries.  Our  En- 
fields  crack,  keen  and  sharp ;  and  ha,  ha,  ha,  look  yonder !  The 
Yankees  are  running  away  from  their  cannon,  leaving  two  pieces 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  Yonder  goes  a  dash  of  our  cavalry. 
They  are  charging  right  up  in  the  midst  of  the  Yankee  line. 
Three  men  are  far  in  advance.  Look  out,  boys!  What  does 
that  mean  ?  Our  cavalry  are  falling  back,  and  the  three  men 
are  cut  off.  They  will  be  captured,  sure.  They  turn  to  get 
back  to  our  lines.  We  can  see  the  smoke  boil  up,  and  hear  the 
discharge  of  musketry  from  the  Yankee  lines.  One  man's  horse 
is  seen  to  blunder  and  fall,  one  man  reels  in  his  saddle,  and  falls 
a  corpse,  and  the  other  is  seen  to  surrender.  But,  look  yonder ! 
the  man's  horse  that  blundered  and  fell  is  up  again ;  he  mounts 
his  horse  in  fiftv  vards  of  the  whole  Yankee  line,  is  seen  to  lie 


124 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


down  on  his  neck,  and  is  spurring  him  right  on  toward  the  solid 
line  of  blue  coats.  Look  how  he  rides,  and  the  ranks  of  the  blue 
coats  open.  Hurrah  for  the  brave  Rebel  boy !  He  has  passed 
and  is  seen  to  regain  his  regiment.  I  afterwards  learned  that 
that  brave  Rebel  boy  was  my  own  brother,  Dave,  who,  at  that 
time  was  not  more  than  sixteen  years  old.  The  one  who  was 
killed  was  named  Grimes,  and  the  one  captured  was  named 
Houser,  and  the  regiment  was  the  First  Tennessee  Cavalry,  then 
commanded  by  Colonel  J.  H.  Lewis.  You  could  have  heard  the 
cheers  from  both  sides,  it  seemed,  for  miles. 

John  Branch  raised  the  tune,  in  which  the  whole  First  and 
Twenty-seventh  Regiments  join  in : 

"Cheer,  boys,  cheer,  we  are  marching  on  to  battle! 
Cheer,  boys,  cheer,  for  our  sweethearts  and  our  wives! 
Cheer,   boys,   cheer-,   we'll  nobly  do  our  duty, 
And  give  to  the  South  our  hearts,  our  arms,  our  lives. 
Old    Lincoln,    with    his    hireling  hosts, 
Will  never   whip   the   South, 

Shouting  the   battle  cry  of  freedom." 

All  this  is  taking  place  while  the  Yankees  are  fully  one 
thousand  yards  off.  We  can  see  every  movement  that  is  made, 
and  we  know  that  Sherman's  incendiaries  are  already  hacked. 
Sherman  himself  is  a  coward,  and  dares  not  try  his  strength 
with  old  Joe.  Sherman  never  fights;  all  that  he  is  after  is 
inarching  to  the  sea,  while  the  world  looks  on  and  wonders: 
•'What  a  flank  movement!"  Yes,  Sherman  is  afraid  of  minnie 
balls,  and  tries  the  flank  movement.  We  are  ordered  to  march 
somewhere. 

"FALLING  BACK." 

Old  Joe  knows  what  he  is  up  to.  Every  night  we  change 
our  position.  The  morrow's  sun  finds  us  face  to  face  with  the 
Yankee  lines.  The  troops  are  in  excellent  spirits.  Yonder  are 
our  "big  guns/7  our  cavalry — Forrest  and  Wheeler — our  sharp 
shooters,  and  here  is  our  wagon  and  supply  train,  right  in  our 
midst.  The  private's  tread  is  light — his  soul  is  happy. 

Another  flank  movement.  To-morrow  finds  us  face  to  face. 
Well,  you  have  come  here  to  fight  us ;  why  don't  you  come  on  ? 
We  are  ready ;  always  ready.  Everything  is  working  like  clock 
work  ;  machinery  is  all  in  order.  Come,  give  us  a  tilt,  and  let 


125 

us  try  our  metal.  You  say  old  Joe  has  got  the  brains  and  you 
have  got  the  men ;  you  are  going  to  flank  us  out  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy.  That's  your  plan,  is  it  ?  Well,  look  out ;  we  are 
going  to  pick  off  and  decimate  your  men  every  day.  You  will 
be  a  picked  chicken  before  you  do  that. 

What?  The  Yankees  are  at  Resacca,  and  have  captured 
the  bridge  across  the  Oostanaula  river.  Well,  now,  that's  busi 
ness  ;  that  has  the  old  ring  in  it.  Tell  it  to  us  again ;  we're  fond 
of  hearing  such  things. 

The  Yankees  are  tearing  up  the  railroad  track  between  the 
tank  and  Resacca.  Let's  hear  it  again.  The  Yankees  have 
opened  the  attack ;  we  are  going  to  have  a  battle ;  we  are  ordered 
to  strip  for  the  fight.  (That  is,  to  take  off  our  knapsacks  and 
blankets,  and  to  detail  Bev.  White  to  guard  them.)  Keep  closed 
up,  men.  The  skirmish  line  is  firing  like  popping  fire-crackers 
on  a  Christmas  morning.  Every  now  and  then  the  boom  of  a 
cannon  and  the  screaming  of  a  shell.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  that  has  the 
right  ring.  We  will  make  Sherman's  incendiaries  tell  another 
tale  in  a  few  moments,  when — "Halt!  about  face."  Well, 
what's  the  matter  now  ?  Simply  a  flank  movement.  All  right ; 
we  march  back,  retake  our  knapsacks  and  blankets,  and  com 
mence  to  march  toward  Resacca.  Tom  Tucker's  rooster  crows, 
and  John  Branch  raises  the  tune,  aJust  Twenty  Years  Ago/' 
and  after  we  sing  that  out,  he  winds  up  with,  " There  Was  an 
Ancient  Individual  Whose  Cognomen  Was  Uncle  Edward,"  and 

"The  old  woman  who  kept  a  peanut  stand, 
And  a  big  policeman  stood  by  with  a  big  stick  in  his  hand," 

And  Arthur  Eulghum  halloes  out,  "All  right;  go  ahead!  toot, 
toot,  toot!  puff,  puff,  puff!  Tickets,  gentlemen,  tickets!"  and 
the  Maury  Grays  raise  the  yell,  "All  aboard  for  Culleoka,"  while 
Walker  Coleman  commences  the  song,  "I'se  gwine  to  jine  the 
rebel  band,  fightin'  for  my  home."  Thus  we  go,  marching  back 
to  Resacca. 

BATTLE   OF  RESACCA. 

Well,  you  want  to  hear  about  shooting  and  banging,  now, 
gentle  reader,  don't  you  ?  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  interest  you  on 
this  subject — see  history. 


126  CO.  H.,  FIBST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

The  Yankees  had  got  breeches  hold  on  us.  They  were  ten, 
miles  in  our  rear ;  had  cut  off  our  possibility  of  a  retreat.  The 
wire  bridge  was  in  their  hands,  and  they  were  on  the  railroad  in 
our  rear ;  but  we  were  moving,  there  was  no  mistake  in  that , 
Our  column  was  firm  and  strong.  There  was  no  excitement,  but 
we  were  moving  along  as  if  on  review.  We  passed  old  Joe  and 
his  staff.  He  has  on  a  light  or  mole  colored  hat,  with  a  black 
feather  in  it.  He  is  listening  to  the  firing  going  on  at  the  front. 
One  little  cheer,  and  the  very  ground  seems  to  shake  with  cheers. 
Old  Joe  smiles  as  blandly  as  a  modest  maid,  raises  his  hat  in 
acknowledgement,  makes  a  polite  bow,  and  rides  toward  the  fir 
ing.  Soon  we  are  thrown  into  line  of  battle,  in  support  of 
Folk's  corps.  We  belong  to  Hardee's  corps.  ISTow  Folk's  corps 
advances  to  the  attack,  and  Hardee's  corps  fifty  or  seventy-five 
yards  in  the  rear.  A  thug,  thug,  thug ;  the  balls  are  decimating 
our  men ;  we  can't  fire ;  Folk's  corps  is  in  front  of  us ;  should  it 
give  way,  then  it  will  be  our  time.  The  air  is  full  of  deadly 
missiles.  We  can  see  the  two  lines  meet,  and  hear  the  deadly 
crash  of  battle ;  can  see  the  blaze  of  smoke  and  fire.  The  earth 
trembles.  Our  little  corps  rush  in  to  carry  off  our  men  as  they 
are  shot  down,  killed  and  wounded.  Lie  down!  thug,  thug! 
General  Hardee  passes  along  the  line.  ^Steady,  boys!"  (The 
old  general  had  on  a  white  cravat;  he  had  been  married  to  a 
young  wife  not  more  than  three  weeks).  uGo  back,  general,  go 
back,  go  back,  go  back,"  is  cried  all  along  the  line.  He  passes 
through  the  missiles  of  death  unscathed ;  stood  all  through  that 
storm  of  bullets  indifferent  to  their  proximity  (we  were  lying 
down,  you  know).  The  enemy  is  checked;  yonder  they  fly, 
whipped  and  driven  from  the  field.  "Attention !  By  the  right 
ilank,  file  left,  march !  Double  quick !"  and  we  were  double 
quicking,  we  knew  not  whither,  but  that  always  meant  fighl . 
We  pass  over  the  hill,  and  through  the  valley,  and  there  is  old 
Joe  pointing  toward  the  tank  with  his  sword.  (He  looked  like 
the  pictures  you  see  hung  upon  the  walls).  We  cross  the  rail 
road.  Halloo !  here  comes  a  cavalry  charge  from  the  Yankee 
line.  Now  for  it ;  we  will  see  how  Yankee  cavalry  fight.  We 
are  not  supported ;  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  we  going  to  be 


BATTLE.  127 

captured  'I  They  thunder  down  upon  us.  Their  flat-footed 
dragoons  shake  and  jar  the  earth.  They  are  all  around  us — we 
are  surrounded.  "Form  square!  Platoons,  right  and  left 
wheel !  Kneel  and  fire !"  There  we  were  in  a  hollow  square. 
The  Yankees  had  never  seen  anything  like  that  before.  It  was 
something  new.  They  charged  right  upon  us.  Colonel  Field, 
sitting  on  his  gray  mare,  right  in  the  center  of  the  hollow  sqiiare, 
gives  the  command,  "Front  rank,  kneel  and  present  bayonet 
against  cavalry."  The  front  rank  knelt  down,  placing  the  butts 
of  their  guns  against  their  knees.  "Rear  rank,  fire  at  will; 
commence  firing."  Now,  all  this  happened  in  less  time  than  it 
has  taken  me  to  write  it.  They  charged  right  upon  us,  no  doubt 
expecting  to  ride  right  over  us,  and  trample  us  to  death  with  the 
hoofs  of  their  horses.  They  tried  to  spur  and  whip  their  horses 
over  us,  but  the  horses  had  more  sense  than  that.  We  were 
pouring  a  deadly  fire  right  into  their  faces,  and  soon  men  and 
horses  were  writhing  in  the  death  agonies ;  officers  were  yelling 
at  the  top  of  their  voices,  "Surrender!  surrender!"  but  we  were 
having  too  good  a  thing  of  it.  We  were  killing  them  by  scores, 
and  they  could  not  fire  at  us ;  if  they  did  they  either  overshot  or 
missed  their  aim.  Their  ranks  soon  began  to  break  and  get  con 
fused,  and  finally  they  were  routed,  and  broke  and  ran  in  all 
directions,  as  fast  as  their  horses  could  carry  them. 

When  we  re-formed  our  regiment  and  marched  back,  we 
found  that  General  Johnston's  army  had  all  passed  over  the 
bridge  at  Resacca.  Now,  reader,  this  was  one  of  our  tight 
places.  The  First  Tennessee  Regiment  was  always  ordered  to 
hold  tight  places,  which  we  always  did.  We  were  about  the  last 
troops  that  passed  over. 

Now,  gentle  reader,  that  is  all  I  know  of  the  battle  of  Re 
sacca.  We  had  repulsed  every  charge,  had  crossed  the  bridge 
with  every  wagon,  and  cannon,  and  everything,  and  had  nothing 
lost  or  captured.  It  beat  anything  that  has  ever  been  recorded 
in  history.  I  wondered  why  old  Joe  did  not  attack  in  their 
rear.  The  explanation  was  that  Hood's  line  was  being  enfiladed, 
his  men  decimated,  and  he  could  not  hold  his  position. 

We  are  still  fighting;  battles  innumerable.     The  Yankees 


1>>S  00.    Hv»   FIRST   TKNNKSSKK   HRUIMKNT, 

had  thrown  pontoons  across  tho  river  below  Kosaooa,  in  hopes  to 
intercept  us  on  the  other  side.  We  woro  marching  on  the  road  ; 
they  seemed  to  bo  inarching  parallel  with  us.  It  was  fighting, 
lighting.  every  day.  When  we  awoke  in  tho  morning,  tho  tiring 
of  guns  was  our  reveille,  and  when  tho  sun  wont  down  it  was  our 
"retreat  and  our  lights  out'*  Fighting,  lighting,  lighting,  all 
day  and  all  night  long.  Hat  ties  woro  fought  every  day,  and  in 
ono  rospovt  wo  always  had  tho  advantage;  thoy  woro  tho  attack 
ing  party,  and  wo  always  had  good  breastworks  thrown  up  dur 
ing  tho  night 

Johnston's  army  was  still  intact.  I'ho  soldiers  drow  their 
regular  rations  of  biscuit  and  bacon,  sugar  and  eotToo.  whisky 
and  tobac\H>.  NYhon  wo  wont  to  sloop  wo  folt  thai  oUl  ,Kv.  the 
faithful  old  watch  dog,  had  his  eye  on  tho  enemy.  No  one  was 
disposed  to  strag^lo  and  go  back  to  Company  Q.  ^Company  0 
\vas  tho  namo  for  play-vnitsV  Tho\  even  folt  safer  in  tho  rogu- 
lar  lino  than  in  tho  rear  with  Company  Q. 

Woll,  as  stated  previously,  it  was  battle,  battle,  battle,  every 
da\\  for  one  hundred  days.  The  boom  of  cannon,  and  the  rattle 
of  musketry  was  our  reveille  and  retreat  and  Sherman  know 
tliat  it  >v«s  no  child's  play. 

I'odaN.  April  \-\.  ISSO.  I  s;\y,  and  honestly  say.  that  I  sin 
corelv  believe  the  combined  forces  of  the  whole  Yankee  nation 
could  never  have  broken  General  Joseph  K.  «lohnston's  lino  of 
battles  beginning  at  Rocky  F«oe  Riilge,,  and  ending  on  the  Ksnks 
of  the  Ohattahoochee, 

A11A1RSV1I.UB OCTAGON   HOUSE THK  FIRST  TKXNKSSKK   ALWAYS 

OOCVPIE8  TIOHT  PLACES. 

We  had  stacked  our  arms  and  gone  into  camp,  and  had 
started  to  build  lire*  to  cook  supper.  I  saw  our  cavalry  falling 
back,  1  thought  rather  hurriedly.  I  ran  to  the  road  and  asked 
them  what  was  the  matter  !  They  answered,  "Matter  enough : 
yonder  are  the  Yankees,  are  you  infantry  fellows  going  to  make 
a  stand  here  f  *  I  told  Colonel  Field  what  had  been  told  to  me. 
and  he  hooted  at  the  idea ;  but  balls  that  had  shucks  tied  to  their 
tails  were  passing  over,  and  our  regiment  was  in  the  rear  of  the 
whole  army.  1  could  hardly  draw  any  one's  attention  to  the 


129 

I  lint,  the  cavalry  had  panned  IIH,  and  that  we  were  on  tho  on  I. 
pont  of  the:  whole  army,  when  an  order  came  for  our  raiment  to 
go  forward  an  rapidly  IIH  f)OHHi  1)1(5  and  occupy  an  octagon  boili€ 
in  our  immediate  front.  Tho  Yankee!-.  wen-  about,  n  hundred 
yardn  from  the  JIOUHC  on  one  Hide;  and  wo  about  a  hundred  yardn 
on  I  IK;  other.  The  race  commenced  JIH  to  which  Hide  would  ;"  ' 
to  tho  house  firnt.  We  readied  it,  arid  had  barely  gotten  in, 
when  Uioy  were  burnting  down  the  puling  of  tho  yard  on  the 
opponito  Hide.  Tho  houfle  was  a  firio  brick,  oetagori  in  nhape,  und 
HH  perfect  u  fort  UH  eould  be  d  eft  i  red.  We?  ran  to  the  windowH, 
up-HtairH,  down-Htairn  arid  in  the  cellar.  The  YankeeH  cheered 
and  charged,  arid  our  boyn  got  happy.  Oolonel  Field  told  UH  he 
had  ordern  to  hold  it  until  every  man  WEB  killed,  and  never  to 
Hurreridor  the  house.  It  waa  a  forlorn  hope. 

We  felt  wo  were  "gone  fawn  nkiriH,"  nure  enough,  At  every 
dincharge  of  our  ^IHIH,  wo  would  hear  a  Yankee  Hquall.  The 
boyn  rained  a  tune  — 

"|'H<'   KwliM-   to  jliic   UK-  H'-()(  1  hand, 
A    flKhHiiK   for   my   \n,nn-" 

* 

an  they  loaded  and  nhot  their  guriH.      Then  the  tune  of 


"f,'bcc»r,   boy«,   <'h«M?r,    w/'  «r<-  innrfhliiK  on  to  huttic! 
Cheer,  hoyn,  clH-cr,  for  our  Nweetbfflrti    und    our    wlv<'K! 

(•|,<.,.r,     hove,    ••(,,  •«•!•,     w«-'ll    nol.lv  do  our  rluly, 

And    five    to    tti«-   Koulli   our   hcartN,    our  u/nH,    our   llv«'N." 

•-,<™V 

Our  cartridges  were  alrnont  gone,  and  Lieutenant  Joe  Car 
ney,  .Joe  Sewell,  and  Hilly  Carr  Folunteered  to  go  and  bring  a 
l>ox  of  one  thousand  cartridges.  They  got  out  of  the  back  win 
dow,  and  through  that  hail  of  iron  and  lead,  made  their  way  back 
with  the  lx>x  of  cartridgeH.  Our  ammunition  being  renewed,  the 
fight  raged  on.  Captain  Joe  ]'.  Lee  touched  mo  on  the  nhouldcr 
and  naid,  "Sam,  pleaHe  let  me  have  your  gun  for  one  uhot."  He 
rained  it  to  bin  nhouldcr  arid  pulled  down  on  a  h'rie-drcHHcd  cav 
alry  officer,  and  I  Haw  that  Yankee  tumble.  He  handed  it  back 
to  me  to  reload.  About  twelve  o'clock,  midnight,  the  Hundred 
and  Fifty-fourth  Tennessee,  commanded  by  Colon  el  McOevncy, 
carne  to  our  relief. 

Tho  firing  had  eeawjd,  and  we  abaridoriexl  the  r^tagori  houne 
Our  dead  arid  wounded  —  there  were  thirty  of  them  —  were  in 


130  CO.    H.,   FIRST   TENNESSEE    EEGIMENT. 

strange  contrast  with  the  furniture  of  the  house.  Fine  chairs, 
sofas,  settees,  pianos  and  Brussels  carpeting  being  made  the 
death-bed  of  brave  and  noble  boys,  all  saturated  with  blood. 
Fine  lace  and  damask  curtains,  all  blackened  by  the  smoke  of 
battle.  Fine  bureaus  and  looking-glasses  and  furniture  being 
riddled  by  the  rude  missiles  of  war.  Beautiful  pictures  in  gilt 
frames,  and  a  library  of  valuable  books,  all  shot  and  torn  by 
musket  and  cannon  balls.  Such  is  war. 

KENNESAW  LINE. 

The  battles  of  the  Kennesaw  line  were  fought  for  weeks. 
Cannonading  and  musketry  firing  was  one  continual  thing.  It 
seemed  that  shooting  was  the  order  of  the  day,  and  pickets  on 
both  sides  kept  up  a  continual  firing,  that  sounded  like  ten  thou 
sand  wood-choppers.  Sometimes  the  wood-choppers  would  get 
lazy  or  tired  and  there  was  a  lull.  But  you  could  always  tell 
when  the  old  guard  had  been  relieved,  by  the  accelerated  chops 
of  the  wood-choppers. 

AM  DETAILED  TO  GO  INTO  THE  ENEMY^S  LINES. 

One  day  our  orderly  sergeant  informed  me  that  it  was  my 
regular  time  to  go  on  duty,  and  to  report  to  Captain  Beasley,  of 
the  Twenty-seventh.  I  reported  to  the  proper  place,  and  we 
were  taken  to  the  headquarters  of  General  Leonidas  Polk.  We 
had  to  go  over  into  the  enemy's  lines,  and  make  such  observa 
tions  as  we  could,  and  report  back  by  daylight  in  the  morning. 
Our  instructions  were  to  leave  everything  in  camp  except  our 
guns  and  cartridge-boxes.  These  were  to  be  carried,  but,  under 
no  circumstances,  to  be  used,  except  in  case  of  death  itself.  We 
were  instructed  to  fall  in  in  the  rear  of  our  relief  guard,  which 
would  go  out  about  sunset;  not  to  attract  their  attention,  but  to 
drop  out  one  or  two  at  a  time ;  to  pass  the  Yankee  picket  as  best 
we  could,  even  if  we  had  to  crawl  on  our  bellies  to  do  so ;  to  go 
over  in  the  Yankee  lines,  and  to  find  out  all  we  could,  without 
attracting  attention,  if  possible.  These  were  our  instructions. 
You  may  be  sure  my  heart  beat  like  a  muffled  drum  when  I 
heard  our  orders. 


131 

I  felt  like  making  my  will.  But,  like  the  boy  who  was 
passing  the  graveyard,  I  tried  to  whistle  to  keep  my  spirits  up. 
We  followed  the  relief  guard,  and  one  by  one  stepped  off  from 
the  rear.  I  was  with  two  others,  Arnold  Zellner  and  T.  C. 
Dornin.  We  found  ourselves  between  the  picket  lines  of  the 
two  armies.  Fortune  seemed  to  favor  us.  It  was  just  getting 
dusky  twilight,  and  we  saw  the  relief  guard  of  the  Yankees  just 
putting  on  their  picket.  They  seemed  to  be  very  mild,  inoffen 
sive  fellows.  They  kept  a  looking  over  toward  the  Rebel  lines, 
and  would  dodge  if  a 'twig  cracked  under  their  feet.  I  walked 
on  as  if  I  was  just  relieved,  and  had  passed  their  lines,  when  I 
turned  back,  and  says  I,  "Captain,  what  guard  is  this  ?"  He 
answered,  "Nien  bocht,  you  bet,"  is  what  I  understood  him  to 
say.  "What  regiment  are  you  from  ?"  "Ben  bicht  mir  ein 
riefel  fab  bien."  "What  regiment  is  your  detail  from  ?"  alet 
du  mem  got  Donnermetter  stefel  switzer."  I  had  to  give  it  up 
—I  had  run  across  the  detail  of  a  Dutch  regiment.  I  passed 
on,  and  came  to  the  regular  line  of  breastworks,  and  there  was 
an  old  Irishman  sitting  on  a  stump  grinding  coffee.  "General 
McCook's  brigade,  be  jabbers/7  he  answered  to  my  inquiry  as  to 
what  regiment  it  was.  Right  in  front  of  me  the  line  was  full 
of  Irish  soldiers,  and  they  were  cooking  supper.  I  finally  got 
over  their  breastworks,  and  was  fearful  I  would  run  into  some 
camp  or  headquarter  guard,  and  the  countersign  would  be  de 
manded  of  me.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  in  that  case — but  I 
thought  of  the  way  that  I  had  gotten  it  hundreds  of  times  before 
in  our  army,  when  I  wanted  to  slip  the  guard,  and  that  was  to 
get  a  gun,  go  to  some  cross  street  or  conspicuous  place,  halt  the 
officer,  and  get  the  countersign.  And  while  standing  near  Gen 
eral  Sherman's  headquarters,  I  saw  a  courier  come  out  of  his 
tent,  get  on  his  horse,  and  ride  toward  where  I  stood.  As  he 
approached,  says  I,  "Halt !  who  goes  there  ?"  "A  friend  with 
the  countersign."  He  advanced,  and  whispered  in  my  ear  the 
word  "United."  Pie  rode  on.  I  had  gotten  their  countersign, 
and  felt  I  was  no  longer  a  prisoner.  I  went  all  over  their  camp, 
and  saw  no  demonstration  of  any  kind.  Night  had  thrown  her 
mantle  over  the  encampment.  I  could  plainly  see  the  sentinels 


132  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

on  their  weary  vigils  along  the  lines,  but  there  was  none  in  their 
rear.  I  met  and  talked  with  a  great  many  soldiers,  but  could 
get  no  information  from  them. 

About  2  o'clock  at  night,  I  saw  a  body  of  men  approaching 
where  I  was.  Something  told  me  that  I  had  better  get  out  of 
their  way,  but  I  did  not.  The  person  in  command  said,  "Say, 
there!  you,  sir;  say,  you,  sir!"  Says  I,  "Are  you  speaking  to 
me  ?"  "Yes,"  very  curtly  and  abruptly.  "What  .regiment  do 
you  belong  to?"  Says  I,  "One  hundred  and  twenty-seventh 
Illinois."  "Well,  sir,  fall  in  here ;  I  am  ordered  to  take  up  all 
stragglers.  Fall  in,  fall  in  promptly!"  Says  I,  "I  am  in 
structed  by  General  McCook  to  remain  here  and  direct  a  courier 
to  General  Williams'  headquarters."  He  says,  "It's  a  strange 
place  for  a  courier  to  come  to."  His  command  marched  on. 
About  an  hour  afterwards — about  3  o'clock — I  heard  the  assem 
bly  sound.  I  knew  then  that  it  was  about  time  for  me  to  be 
getting  out  of  the  way.  Soon  their  companies  were  forming, 
and  they  were  calling  the  roll  everywhere.  Everything  had 
begun  to  stir.  Artillery  men  were  hitching  up  their  horses. 
Men  were  dashing  about  in  every  direction.  I  saw  their  army 
form  and  move  off.  I  got  back  into  our  lines,  and  reported  to 
General  Polk. 

He  was  killed  that  very  day  on  the  Kennesaw  line.  Gen 
eral  Stephens  was  killed  the  very  next  day. 

Every  now  and  then  a  dead  picket  was  brought  in.  Times 
had  begun  to  look  bilious,  indeed.  Their  cannon  seemed  to  be 
getting  the  best  of  ours  in  every  fight.  The  cannons  of  both 
armies  were  belching  and  bellowing  at  each  other,  and  the 
pickets  were  going  it  like  wood-choppers,  in  earnest.  We  were 
entrenched  behind  strong  fortifications.  Our  rations  were 
cooked  and  brought  to  us  regularly,  and  the  spirits  of  the  army 
were  in  good  condition. 

We  continued  to  change  position,  and  build  new  breast 
works  every  night.  One-third  of  the  army  had  to  keep  awake 
in  the  trenches,  while  the  other  two-thirds  slept.  But  every 
thing  was  so  systematized,  that  we  did  not  feel  the  fatigue. 


133 

PINE  MOUNTAIN DEATH  OF  GENERAL  LEONIDAS  POLK. 

General  Leonidas  Polk,  our  old  leader,  whom  we  had  fol 
lowed  all  through  that  long  war,  had  gone  forward  with  some 
of  his  staff  to  the  top  of  Pine  Mountain,  to  reconnoiter,  as  far 
as  was  practicable,  the  position  of  the  enemy  in  our  front. 
While  looking  at  them  with  his  field  glass,  a  solid  shot  from  the 
Federal  guns  struck  him  on  his  left  breast,  passing  through  his 
body  and  through  his  heart.  I  saw  him  while  the  infirmary 
corps  were  bringing  him  off  the  field.  He  was  as  white  as  a 
piece  of  marble,  and  a  most  remarkable  thing  about  him  was, 
that  not  a  drop  of  blood  was  ever  seen  to  come  out  of  the  place 
through  which  the  cannon  ball  had  passed.  My  pen  and  ability 
is  inadequate  to  the  task  of  doing  his  memory  justice.  Every 
private  soldier  loved  him.  Second  to  Stonewall  Jackson,  his 
loss  was  the  greatest  the  South  ever  sustained.  When  I  saw 
him  there  dead,  I  felt  that  I  had  lost  a  friend  whom  I  had  ever 
loved  and  respected,  and  that  the  South  had  lost  one  of  her  best 
and  greatest  generals. 

His  soldiers  always  loved  and  honored  him.  They  called 
him  "Bishop  Polk."  "Bishop  Polk"  was  ever  a  favorite  with 
the  army,  and  when  any  position  was  to  be  held,  and  it  was 
known  that  "Bishop  Polk"  was  there,  we  knew  and  felt  that 
"all  was  well." 

GOLGOTHA  CHURCH GENERAL  LUCIUS  E.  POLK  WOUNDED. 

On  this  Kennesaw  line,  near  Golgotha  Church,  one  evening 
about  4  o'clock,  our  Confederate  line  of  battle  and  the  Yankee 
line  came  in  close  proximity.  If  I  mistake  not,  it  was  a  dark, 
drizzly,  rainy  evening.  The  cannon  balls  were  ripping  and 
tearing  through  the  bushes.  The  two  lines  were  in  plain  view 
of  each  other.  General  Pat  Cleburne  was  at  this  time  com 
manding  Hardee's  corps,  and  General  Lucius  E.  Polk  was  in 
command  of  Cleburne's  division.  General  John  C.  Brown's 
division  was  supporting  Cleburne's  division,  or,  rather,  "in 
echelon."  Every  few  moments,  a  raking  fire  from  the  Yankee 
lines  would  be  poured  into  our  lines,  tearing  limbs  off  the  trees, 


134  CO.    Hv    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

and  throwing  rocks  and  dirt  in  every  direction ;  but  I  never  saw 
a  soldier  quail,  or  even  dodge.  We  had  confidence  in  old  Joe, 
and  were  ready  to  march  right  into  the  midst  of  battle  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice.  While  in  this  position,  a  bomb,  loaded  with 
shrapnel  and  grape-shot,  came  ripping  and  tearing  through  our 
ranks,  wounding  General  Lucius  E.  Polk,  and  killing  some  of 
his  staff.  And,  right  here,  I  deem  it  not  inappropriate  to  make 
a  few  remarks  as  to  the  character  and  appearance  of  so  brave 
and  gallant  an  officer.  At  this  time  he  was  about  twenty-five 
years  old,  with  long  black  hair,  that  curled,  a  gentle  and  attract 
ive  black  eye  that  seemed  to  sparkle  with  love  rather  than  chiv 
alry,  and  were  it  not  for  a  young  moustache  and  goatee  that  he 
usually  wore,  he  would  have  passed  for  a  beautiful  girl.  In  his 
manner  he  was  as  simple  and  guileless  as  a  child,  and  generous 
almost  to  a  fault.  Enlisting  in  the  First  Arkansas  Regiment 
as  a  private  soldier,  and  serving  for  twelve  months  as  orderly 
sergeant;  at  the  reorganization  he  was  elected  colonel  of  the 
regiment,  and  afterwards,  on  account  of  merit  and  ability,  was 
commissioned  brigadier-general ;  distinguishing  himself  for  con 
spicuous  bravery  and  gallantry  on  every  battlefield,  and  being 
"scalped"  by  a  minnie  ball  at  Richmond,  Kentucky — which 
scar  marks  its  furrow  on  top  of  his  head  to-day.  In  every  bat 
tle  he  was  engaged  in,  he  led  his  men  to  victory,  or  held  the 
enemy  at  bay,  while  the  surge  of  battle  seemd  against  us ;  he 
always  seemed  the  successful  general,  who  would  snatch  victory 
out  of  the  very  jaws  of  defeat.  In  every  battle,  Folk's  brigade, 
of  Cleburne' s  division,  distinguished  itself,  almost  making  the 
name  of  Cleburne  as  the  Stonewall  of  the  West.  Polk  was  to 
Cleburne  what  Murat  or  the  old  guard  was  to  Napoleon.  And, 
at  the  battle  of  Chickamauga,  when  it  seemed  that  the  Southern 
army  had  nearly  lost  the  battle,  General  Lucius  E.  Folk's 
brigade  made  the  most  gallant  charge  of  the  war,  turning  the 
tide  of  affairs,  and  routing  the  Yankee  army.  General  Polk 
himself  led  the  charge  in  person,  and  was  the  first  man  on  top  of 
the  Yankee  breastworks  (vide  General  D.  H.  Hill's  report  of  the 
battle  of  Chickamauga),  and  in  every  attack  he  had  the  advance 
guard,  and  in  every  retreat,  the  rear  guard  of  the  army.  Why  ? 


135 

Because  General  Lucius  E.  Polk  and  his  brave  soldiers  never 
faltered,  and  with  him  as  leader,  the  general  commanding  the 
army  knew  that  aall  was  well." 

Well,  this  evening  of  which  I  now  write,  the  litter  corps 
ran  up  and  placed  him  on  a  litter,  and  were  bringing  him  back 
through  Company  H,  of  our  regiment,  when  one  of  the  men 
was  wounded,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  another  one  was  killed, 
and  they  let  him  fall  to  the  ground.  At  that  time,  the  Yankees 
seemed  to  know  that  they  had  killed  or  wounded  a  general,  and 
tore  loose  their  batteries  upon  this  point.  The  dirt  and  rocks 
were  flying  in  every  direction,  when  Captain  Joe  P.  Lee,  Jim 
Brandon  and  myself ,  ran  forward,  grabbed  up  the  litter,  brought 
General  Polk  off  the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  assisted  in  carrying 
him  to  the  headquarters  of  General  Cleburne.  When  we  got  to 
General  Cleburne,  he  came  forward  and  asked  General  Polk 
if  he  was  badly  wounded,,  and  General  Polk  remarked,  laugh 
ingly:  "Well,  I  think  I  will  be  able  to  get  a  furlough  now." 
This  is  a  fact.  General  Polk's  leg  had  been  shot  almost  entirely 
off.  I  remember  the  foot  part  being  twisted  clear  around,  and 
lying  by  his  side,  while  the  blood  was  running  through  the  litter 
in  a  perfect  stream.  I  remember,  also,  that  General  Cleburne 
dashed  a  tear  from  his  eye  with  his  hand,  and  saying,  "Poor 
fellow,"  at  once  galloped  to  the  front,  and  ordered  an  immediate 
advance  of  our  lines.  Cleburne' s  division  was  soon  engaged 
Xight  coming  on,  prevented  a  general  engagement,  but  we  drove 
the  Yankee  line  two  miles. 

"DEAD  ANGLE/' 

The  First  and  Twenty-seventh  Tennessee  Regiments  will 
ever  remember  the  battle  of  "Dead  Angle,"  which  was  fought 
June  27th,  on  the  Kennesaw  line,  near  Marietta,  Georgia.  It 
was  one  of  the  hottest  and  longest  days  of  the  year,  and  one  of 
the  most  desperate  and  determinedly  resisted  battles  fought  dur 
ing  the  whole  war.  Our  regiment  was  stationed  on  an  angle,  a 
little  spur  of  the  mountain,  or  rather  promontory  of  a  range  of 
hills,  extending  far  out  beyond  the  main  line  of  battle,  and  was 
subject  to  the  enfilading  fire  of  forty  pieces  of  artillery  of  the 


136  CO.    H.,    FIKST    TENNESSEE    EEGIMEXT. 

Federal  batteries.  It  seemed  fun  for  the  guns  of  the  whole 
Yankee  army  to  play  upon  this  point.  We  would  work  hard 
every  night  to  strengthen  our  breastworks,  and  the  very  next 
day  they  would  be  torn  down  smooth  with  the  ground  by  solid 
shots  and  shells  from  the  guns  of  the  enemy.  Even  the  little 
trees  and  bushes  which  had  been  left  for  shade,  were  cut  down 
as  so  much  stubble.  For  more  than  a  week  this  constant  firing 
had  been  kept  up  against  this  salient  point.  In  the  meantime, 
the  skirmishing  in  the  valley  below  resembled  the  sounds  made 
by  ten  thousand  wood-choppers. 

Well,  on  the  fatal  morning  of  June  27th,  the  sun  rose  clear 
and  cloudless,  the  heavens  seemed  made  of  brass,  and  the  earth 
of  iron,  and  as  the  sun  began  to  mount  toward  the  zenith, 
everything  became  quiet,  and  no  sound  was  heard  save  a  pecker- 
wood  on  a  neighboring  tree,  tapping  on  its  old  trunk,  trying  to 
find  a  worm  for  his  dinner.  We  all  knew  it  was  but  the  dead 
cairn  that  precedes  the  storm.  On  the  distant  hills  we  could 
plainly  see  officers  dashing  about  hither  and  thither,  and  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  moving  to  and  fro,  and  we  knew  the  Federals 
were  making  preparations  for  the  mighty  contest.  We  could 
hear  but  the  rumbling  sound  of  heavy  guns,  and  the  distant 
tread  of  a  marching  army,  as  a  faint  roar  of  the  coming  storm, 
which  was  soon  to  break  the  ominous  silence  with  the  sound  of 
conflict,  such  as  was  scarcely  ever  before  heard  on  this  earth. 
It  seemed  that  the  arch-angel  of  Death  stood  and  looked  on  with 
outstretched  wings,  while  all  the  earth  was  silent,  when  all  at 
once  a  hundred  guns  from  the  Federal  line  opened  upon  us,  and 
for  more  than  an  hour  they  poured  their  solid  and  chain  shot, 
grape  and  shrapnel  right  upon  this  salient  point,  defended  by 
our  regiment  alone,  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  our  pickets  jumped 
into  our  works  and  reported  the  Yankees  advancing,  and  almost 
at  the  same  time  a  solid  line  of  blue  coats  came  up  the  hill.  I 
discharged  my  gun,  and  happening  to  look  up,  there  was  the 
beautiful  flag  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flaunting  right  in  my 
face,  and  I  heard  John  Branch,  of  the  Rock  City  Guards,  com 
manded  by  Captain  W.  D.  Kelly,  who  were  next  Company  H, 
say,  "Look  at  that  Yankee  flag;  shoot  that  fellow;  snatch  that 


HUNDRED  DAYS'  BATTLE.  137 

flag  out  of  his  hand !"  My  pen  is  unable  to  describe  the  scene 
of  carnage  and  death  that  ensued  in  the  next  two  hours.  Col 
umn  after  column  of  Federal  soldiers  were  crowded  upon  that 
line,  and  by  referring  to  the  history  of  the  war  you  will  find 
they  were  massed  in  column  forty  columns  deep ;  in  fact,  the 
whole  force  of  the  Yankee  army  was  hurled  against  this  point, 
but  no  sooner  would  a  regiment  mount  our  works  than  they 
were  shot  down  or  surrendered,  and  soon  we  had  every  "gopher 
hole"  full  of  Yankee  prisoners.  Yet  still  the  Yankees  came. 
It  seemed  impossible  to  check  the  onslaught,  but  every  man  was 
true  to  his  trust,  and  seemed  to  think  that  at  that  moment  the 
whole  responsibility  of  the  Confederate  government  was  rested 
upon  his  shoulders.  Talk  about  other  battles,  victories,  shouts, 
cheers,  and  triumphs,  but  in  comparison  with  this  day's  fight, 
all  others  dwarf  into  insignificance.  The  sun  beaming  down 
on  our  uncovered  heads,  the  thermometer  being  one  hundred  and 
ten  degrees  in  the  shade,  and  a  solid  line  of  blazing  fire  right 
from  the  muzzles  of  the  Yankee  guns  being  poured  right  into 
our  very  faces,  singeing  our  hair  and  clothes,  the  hot  blood  of 
our  dead  and  wounded  spurting  on  us,  the  blinding  smoke  and 
stifling  atmosphere  filling  our  eyes  and  mouths,  and  the  awful 
concussion  causing  the  blood  to  gush  out  of  our  noses  and  ears, 
and  above  all,  the  roar  of  battle,  made  it  a  perfect  pandemonium. 
Afterward  I  heard  a  soldier  express  himself  by  saying  that  he 
thought  "Hell  had  broke  loose  in  Georgia,  sure  enough." 

I  have  heard  men  say  that  if  they  ever  killed  a  Yankee 
during  the  war  they  were  not  aware  of  it.  I  am  satisfied  that 
on  this  memorable  day,  every  man  in  our  regiment  killed  from 
one  score  to  four  score,  yea,  five  score  men.  I  mean  from 
twenty  to  one  hundred  each.  All  that  was  necessary  was  to 
load  and  shoot.  In  fact,  I  will  ever  think  that  the  reason  they 
did  not  capture  our  works  was  the  impossibility  of  their  living 
men  passing  over  the  bodies  of  their  dead.  The  ground  was 
piled  up  with  one  solid  mass  of  dead  and  wounded  Yankees.  I 
learned  afterwards  from  the  burying  squad  that  in  some  places 
they  were  piled  up  like  cord  wood,  twelve  deep. 

After  they  were  time  and  time  again  beaten  back,  they  at 
last  were  enabled  to  fortifv  a  line  under  the  crest  of  the  hill, 


138  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

only  thirty  yards  from  us,  and  they  immediately  commenced  to 
excavate  the  earth  with  the  purpose  of  blowing  up  our  line. 

We  remained  here  three  days  after  the  battle.  In  the 
meantime  the  woods  had  taken  fire,  and  during  the  nights  and 
days  of  all  that  time  continued  to  burn,  and  at  all  times,  every 
hour  of  day  and  night,  you  could  hear  the  shrieks  and  screams 
of  the  poor  fellows  who  were  left  on  the  field,  and  a  stench,  so 
sickening  as  to  nauseate  the  whole  of  both  armies,  arose  from 
the  decaying  bodies  of  the  dead  left  lying  on  the  field. 

On  the  third  morning  the  Yankees  raised  a  white  flag,  ask 
ing  an  armistice  to  bury  their  dead,  not  for  any  respect  either 
army  had  for  the  dead,  but  to  get  rid  of  the  sickening  stench. 
I  get  sick  now  when  I  happen  to  think  about  it.  Long  and  deep 
trenches  were  dug,  and  hooks  made  from  bayonets  crooked  for 
the  purpose,  and  all  the  dead  were  dragged  and  thrown  pell 
mell  into  these  trenches.  Nothing  was  allowed  to  be  taken  off 
the  dead,  and  finely  dressed  officers,  with  gold  watch  chains 
dangling  over  their  vests,  were  thrown  into  the  ditches.  Dur 
ing  the  whole  day  both  armies  were  hard  at  work,  burying  the 
Federal  dead. 

Every  member  of  the  First  and  Twenty-seventh  Tennessee 
Regiments  deserves  a  wreath  of  imperishable  fame,  and  a  warm 
place  in  the  hearts  of  their  countrymen,  for  their  gallant  and 
heroic  valor  at  the  battle  of  Dead  Angle.  Xo  man  distinguished 
himself  above  another.  All  did  their  duty,  and  the  glory  of 
one  is  but  the  glory  and  just  tribute  of  the  others. 

After  we  had  abandoned  the  line,  and  on  coming  to  a  little 
stream  of  water,  I  undressed  for  the  purpose  of  bathing,  and 
after  undressing  found  my  arm  all  battered  and  bruised  and 
bloodshot  from  my  wrist  to  my  shoulder,  and  as  sore  as  a  blister. 
I  had  shot  one  hundred  and  twenty  times  that  day.  My  gun 
became  so  hot  that  frequently  the  powder  would  flash  before  I 
could  ram  home  the  ball,  and  I  had  frequently  to  exchange  my 
gun  for  that  of  a  dead  comrade. 

Colonel  H.  R.  Field  was  loading  and  shooting  the  same  as 
any  private  in  the  ranks  when  he  fell  off  the  skid  from  which  he 
was  shooting  right  over  my  shoulder,  shot  through  the  head.  I 


139 

laid  him  down  in  the  trench,  and  he  said,  "Well,  they  have  got 
me  at  last,  but  I  have  killed  fifteen  of  them ;  time  about  is  fair 
play,  I  reckon."  But  Colonel  Field  was  not  killed — only 
wounded,  and  one  side  paralyzed.  Captain  Joe  P.  Lee,  Cap 
tain  Mack  Campbell,  Lieutenant  T.  H.  Maney,  and  other  offi 
cers  of  the  regiment,  threw  rocks  and  beat  them  in  their  faces 
with  sticks.  The  Yankees  did  the  same.  The  rocks  came  in 
upon  us  like  a  perfect  hail  storm,  and  the  Yankees  seemed  very 
obstinate,  and  in  no  hurry  to  get  away  from  our  front,  and  we 
had  to  keep  up  the  firing  and  shooting  them  down  in  self- 
defense.  They  seemed  to  walk  up  and  take  death  as  coolly  as 
if  they  were  automatic  or  wooden  men,  and  our  boys  did  not 
shoot  for  the  fun  of  the  thing.  It  was,  verily,  a  life  and  death 
grapple,  and  the  least  flicker  on  our  part,  would  have  been  sure 
death  to  all.  We  could  not  be  reinforced  on  account  of  our 
position,  and  we  had  to  stand  up  to  the  rack,  fodder  or  no  fod 
der.  When  the  Yankees  fell  back,  and  the  firing  ceased,  I  never 
saw  so  many  broken  down  and  exhausted  men  in  my  life.  I 
was  as  sick  as  a  horse,  and  as  wet  with  blood  and  sweat  as  T 
could  be,  and  many  of  our  men  were  vomiting  with  excessive 
fatigue,  over-exhaustion,  and  sunstroke;  our  tongues  were 
parched  and  cracked  for  water,  and  our  faces  blackened  with 
powder  and  smoke,  and  our  dead  and  wounded  were  piled  indis 
criminately  in  the  trenches.  There  was  not  a  single  man  in 
the  company  who  \vas  not  wounded,  or  had  holes  shot  through 
his  hat  and  clothing.  Captain  Beasley  was  killed,  and  nearly 
all  his  company  killed  and  wounded.  The  Rock  City  Guards 
were  almost  piled  in  heaps  and  so  was  our  company.  Captain 
Joe  P.  Lee  was  badly  wounded.  Poor  Walter  Hood  and  Jim 
Brandon  were  lying  there  among  us,  while  their  spirits  were  in 
heaven;  also,  William  A.  Hughes,  my  old  mess-mate  and  friend, 
who  had  clerked  with  me  for  S.  F.  &  J.  M.  Mayes,  and  who  had 
slept  with  me  for  lo !  these  many  years,  and  a  boy  who  loved  me 
more  than  any  other  person  on  earth  has  ever  done.  I  had  just 
discharged  the  contents  of  my  gun  into  the  bosoms  of  twro  men, 
one  right  behind  the  other,  killing  them  both,  and  was  re-load 
ing,  when  a  Yankee  rushed  upon  me,  having  me  at  a  disadvaii- 


140  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

tage,  and  said,  "You  have  killed  my  two  brothers,  and  now  I've 
got  you."  Everything  I  had  ever  done  rushed  through  my 
mind.  I  heard  the  roar,  and  felt  the  flash  of  fire,  and  saw  my 
more  than  friend,  William  A.  Hughes,  grab  the  muzzle  of  the 
gun,  receiving  the  whole  contents  in  his  hand  and  arm,  and 
mortally  wounding  him.  Reader,  he  died  for  me.  In  saving 
my  life,  he  lost  his  own.  When  the  infimary  corps  carried  him 
off,  all  mutilated  and  bleeding  he  told  them  to  give  me  "Flor 
ence  Fleming"  (that  was  the  name  of  his  gun,  which  he  had  put 
on  it  in  silver  letters),  and  to  give  me  his  blanket  and  clothing. 
He  gave  his  life  for  me,  and  everything  that  he  had.  It  was 
the  last  time  that  I  ever  saw  him,  but  I  know  that  away  up 
yonder,  beyond  the  clouds,  blackness,  tempest  and  night,  and 
away  above  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  where  the  stars  keep  their 
ceaseless  vigils,  away  up  yonder  in  the  golden  city  of  the  New 
Jerusalem,  where  God  and  Jesus  Christ,  our  Savior,  ever  reign, 
we  will  sometime  meet  at  the  marriage  supper  of  the  Son  of 
God,  who  gave  His  life  for  the  redemption  of  the  whole  world. 
For  several  nights  they  made  attacks  upon  our  lines,  but 
in  every  attempt,  they  were  driven  back  with  great  slaughter. 
They  would  ignite  the  tape  of  bomb  shells,  and  throw  them  over 
in  our  lines,  but,  if  the  shell  did  not  immediately  explode,  they 
were  thrown  back.  They  had  a  little  shell  called  hand  grenade, 
but  they  wmild  either  stop  short  of  us,  or  .go  over  our  heads,  and 
were  harmless.  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  sent  us  a  couple 
of  chevaux-de-frise.  When  they  came,  a  detail  of  three  men 
had  to  roll  them  over  the  works.  Those  three  men  were  heroes. 
Their  names  were  Edmund  Brandon,  T.  C.  Dornin,  and  Arnold 
Zellner.  Although  it  was  a  solemn  occasion,  every  one  of  us 
was  convulsed  with  laughter  at  the  ridiculous  appearance  and 
actions  of  the  detail.  Every  one  of  them  made  their  wills  and 
said  their  prayers  truthfully  and  honestly,  before  they  under 
took  the  task.  I  laugh  now  every  time  I  think  of  the  ridiculous 
appearance  of  the  detail,  but  to  them  it  was  no  laughing  matter. 
I  will  say  that  they  were  men  who  feared  not,  nor  faltered  in 
their  duty.  They  were  men,  and  to-day  deserve  the  thanks  of 
the  people  of  the  South.  That  night  about  midnight,  an  alarm 


HUNDRED  DAYS'  BATTLE.  141 

was  given  that  the  Yankees  were  advancing.  They  would  only 
have  to  run  about  twenty  yards  before  they  would  be  in  our 
works.  We  were  ordered  to  "shoot."  Every  man  was  halloo 
ing  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Shoot,  shoot,  tee,  shoot,  shootee." 
On  the  alarm,  both  the  Confederate  and  Federal  lines  opened 
with  both  small  arms  and  artillery,  and  it  seemed  that  the  very 
heavens  and  earth  were  in  a  grand  conflagration,  as  they  will 
be  at  the  final  judgment,  after  the  resurrection.  I  have  since 
learned  that  this  was  a  false  alarm,  and  that  no  attack  had  been 
meditated. 

Previous  to  the  day  of  attack,  the  soldiers  had  cut  down, 
all  the  trees  in  our  immediate  front,  throwing  the  tops  down 
hill  and  sharpening  the  limbs  of  the  same,  thus  making,  as  we 
thought,  an  impenetrable  abattis  of  vines  and  limbs  locked  to 
gether;  but  nothing  stopped  or  could  stop  the  advance  of  the 
Yankee  line,  but  the  hot  shot  and  cold  steel  that  we  poured  into 
their  faces  from  under  our  head-logs. 

One  of  the  most  shameful  and  cowardly  acts  of  Yankee 
treachery  was  committed  there  that  I  ever  remember  to  have 
seen.  A  wounded  Yankee  was  lying  right  outside  of  our  works, 
and  begging  most  piteously  for  water,  when  a  member  of  the 
railroad  company  (his  name  was  Hog  Johnson,  and  the  very 
man  who  stood  videt  with  Theodore  Sloan  and  I  at  the  battle  of 
Missionary  Ridge,  and  who  killed  the  three  Yankees,  one  night, 
from  Fort  Horsley ) ,  got  a  canteen  of  water,  and  gave  the  dying 
Yankee  a  drink,  and  as  he  started  back,  he  was  killed  dead  in 
his  tracks  by  a  treacherous  Yankee  hid  behind  a  tree.  It  mat 
ters  not,  for  somewhere  in  God's  Holy  Word,  which  cannot  lie, 
He  says  that  "He  that  giveth  a  cup  of  cold  water  in  my  name, 
shall  not  lose  his  reward."  And  I  have  no  doubt,  reader,  in  my 
own  mind,  that  the  poor  fellow  is  reaping  his  reward  in  Eman- 
ueFs  land  with  the  good  and  just.  In  every  instance  where  we 
tried  to  assist  their  wounded,  our  men  were  killed  or  wrounded. 
A  poor  wounded  and  dying  boy,  not  more  than  sixteen  years  of 
age,  asked  permission  to  crawl  over  our  works,  and  when  he  had 
crawled  to  the  top,  and  just  as  Blair  Webster  and  I  reached  up 
to  help  the  poor  fellow,  he,  the  Yankee,  was  killed  by  his  own 


142  CO.    H.,    FIKST   TENNESSEE    EEGIMENT. 

men.     In  fact,  I  have  ever  thought  that  is  why  the  slaughter 
was  so  great  in  our  front,  that  nearly,  if  not  as  many,  Yankees 
were  killed  by  their  own  men  as  by  us.     The  brave  ones,  who 
tried  to  storm  and  carry  our  works,  were  simply  between  two 
fires.     It  is  a  singular  fanaticism,  and  curious  fact,  that  enters 
the  mind  of  a  soldier,  that  it  is  a  grand  and  glorious  death  to 
die  on  a  victorious  battlefield.      One  morning  the  Sixth  and 
Ninth  Regiments  came  to  our  assistance — not  to  relieve  us — 
but  only  to  assist  us,  and  every  member  of  our  regiment — First 
and  Twenty-seventh — got  as  mad  as  a  "wet  hen."     They  felt 
almost  insulted,  and  I  believe  we  would  soon  have  been  in  a 
free  fight,  had  they  not  been  ordered  back.     As  soon  as  they 
came  up  every  one  of  us  began  to  say,  "Go  back !  go  back !  we 
can  hold  this  place,  and  by  the  eternal  God  we  are  not  going  to 
leave  it."     General  Johnston  came  there  to  look  at  the  position, 
and  told  us  that  a  transverse  line  was  about  one  hundred  yards 
in  our  rear,  and  should  they  come  on  us  too  heavy  to  fall  back 
to  that  line,  when  almost  every  one  of  us  said,  "You  go  back  and 
look  at  other  lines,  this  place  is  safe,  and  can  never  be  taken." 
And  then  when  they  had  dug  a  tunnel  under  us  to  blow  us  up, 
we  laughed,  yea,  even  rejoiced,  at  the  fact  of  soon  being  blown 
sky  high.     Yet,  not  a  single  man  was  willing  to  leave  his  post. 
AVhen  old  Joe  sent  us  the  two  clievaux-de-frise,  and  kept  on 
sending  us  water,  and  rations,  and  whisky,  and  tobacco,  and 
word  to  hold  our  line,  we  would  invariably  send  word  back  to 
rest  easy,  and  that  all  is  well  at  Dead  Angle.     I  have  ever 
thought  that  is  one  reason  why  General  Johnston  fell  back  from 
this  Kennesaw  line,  and  I  will  say  to-day,  in  1882,  that  while 
we  appreciated  his  sympathies  and  kindness  toward  us,  yet  we 
did  not  think  hard  of  old  Joe  for  having  so  little  confidence  in  us 
at  that  time.     A  perfect  hail  of  minnie  balls  was  being  contin 
ually  poured  into  our  head-logs  the  whole  time  we  remained 
here.     The  Yankees  would  hold  up  small  looking-glasses,  so  that 
our  strength  and  breastworks  could  be  seen  in  the  reflection  in 
the  glass ;  and  they  also  had  small  mirrors  on  the  butts  of  their 
guns,  so  arranged  that  they  could  hight  up  the  barrels  of  their 
guns  by  looking  through  these  glasses,  while  they  themselves 


HUNDRED  DAYS'  BATTLE.  143 

would  not  be  exposed  to  our  fire,  and  they  kept  up  this  continual 
firing  day  and  night,  whether  they  could  see  us  or  not.  Some 
times  a  glancing  shot  from  our  head-logs  would  wound  some  one. 

But  I  cannot  describe  it  as  I  would  wish.  I  would  be 
pleased  to  mention  the  name  of  every  soldier,  not  only  of  Com 
pany  H  alone,  but  every  man  in  the  First  and  Twenty-seventh 
Tennessee  Consolidated  Kegiments  on  this  occasion,  but  I  cannot 
now  remember  their  names,  and  will  not  mention  any  one  in 
particular,  fearing  to  do  injustice  to  some  whom  I  might  inad 
vertently  omit.  Every  man  and  every  company  did  their  duty. 
Company  G,  commanded  by  Captain  Mack  Campbell,  stood  side 
by  side  with  us  on  this  occasion,  as  they  ever  had  during  the 
whole  war.  But  soldiers  of  the  First  and  Twenty-seventh  Regi 
ments,  it  is  with  a  feeling  of  pride  and  satisfaction  to  me,  to-day, 
that  I  was  associated  with  so  many  noble  and  brave  men,  and 
who  were  subsequently  complimented  by  Jeff  Davis,  then  Presi 
dent  of  the  Confederate  States  of  America,  in  person,  who  said, 
"That  every  member  of  our  regiment  was  fit  'to  be  a  captain"- 
his  very  words.  I  mention  Captain  W.  C.  Flournoy,  of  Com 
pany  K,  the  Martin  Guards ;  Captain  Ledbetter,  of  the  Ruther 
ford  Rifles ;  Captains  Kelly  and  Steele,  of  the  Rock  City  Guards, 
and  Captain  Adkisson,  of  the  Williamson  Grays,  and  Captain 
Fulcher,  and  other  names  of  brave  and  heroic  men,  some  of 
whom  live  to-day,  but  many  have  crossed  the  dark  river  and  are 
"resting  under  the  shade  of  the  trees"  on  the  other  shore,  wait 
ing  and  watching  for  us,  who  are  left  to  do  justice  to  their 
memory  and  our  cause,  and  when  we  old-  Rebels  have  accom 
plished  God's  purpose  on  earth,  we,  too,  will  be  called  to  give  an 
account  of  our  battles,  struggles,  and  triumphs. 

Reader  mine,  I  fear  that  I  have  wearied  you  with  too  long 
a  description  of  the  battle  of  "Dead  Angle,"  if  so,  please  pardon 
me,  as  this  is  but  a  sample  of  the  others  which  will  now  follow 
each  other  in  rapid  succession.  And,  furthermore,  in  stating 
the  above  facts,  the  half  has  not  been  told,  but  it  will  give  you  a 
faint  idea  of  the  hard  battles  and  privations  and  hardships  of 
the  soldiers  in  that  stormy  epoch — who  died,  grandly,  glorious 
ly,  nobly ;  dyeing  the  soil  of  old  mother  earth,  and  enriching  the 


144  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  KEGIMENT. 

same  with  their  crimson  life's  blood,  while  doing  what  ?  Only 
trying  to  protect  their  homes  and  families,  their  property,  their 
constitution  and  their  laws,  that  had  been  guaranteed  to  them 
as  a  heritage  forever  by  their  forefathers.  They  died  for  the 
faith  that  each  state  was  a  separate  sovereign  government,  as  laid 
down  by  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and  the  Constitution 
of  our  fathers. 

BATTLE   OF   NEW   HOPE    CHUKCH. 

We  were  on  a  forced  march  along  a  dusty  road.  I  never 
in  my  whole  life  saw  more  dust.  The  dust  fairly  popped  under 
our  feet,  like  tramping  in  a  snow-drift,  and  our  eyes,  and  noses, 
and  mouths,  were  filled  with  the  dust  that  arose  from  our  foot 
steps,  and  to  make  matters  worse,  the  boys  all  tried  to  kick  up  a 
"bigger  dust."  Cavalry  and  artillery  could  not  be  seen  at  ten 
paces,  being  perfectly  enveloped  in  dust.  It  was  a  perfect  fog 
of  dust.  We  were  marching  along,  it  then  being  nearly  dark, 
when  we  heard  the  hoarse  boom  of  a  cannon  in  our  rear.  It 
sounded  as  if  it  had  a  bad  attack  of  croup.  It  went,  "Croup, 
croup,  croup."  The  order  was  given  to  "about  face,  double 
quick,  march."  We  double  quicked  back  to  the  old  church  on 
the  road  side,  when  the  First  Tennessee  Cavalry,  commanded 
by  Colonel  Lewis,  and  the  Ninth  Battalion,  commanded  by 
Major  James  H.  Akin,  passed  us,  and  charged  the  advance  of 
the  Federal  forces.  We  were  supporting  the  cavalry.  We 
heard  them  open.  Deadly  missiles  were  flying  in  every  direc 
tion.  The  peculiar  thud  of  spent  balls  and  balls  with  shucks 
tied  to  their  tails  were  passing  over  our  heads.  We  were  ex 
pecting  that  the  cavalry  would  soon  break,  and  that  we  would  be 
ordered  into  action.  But  the  news  came  from  the  front,  that 
the  cavalry  were  not  only  holding  their  position,  but  were  driv 
ing  the  enemy.  The  earth  jarred  and  trembled;  the  fire  fiend 
seemed  unchained;  wounded  men  were  coming  from  the  front. 
I  asked  the  litter  corps,  "Who  have  you  there  ?"  And  one  an 
swered,  "Captain  Asa  G.  Freeman."  I  asked  if  he  was  dan 
gerously  wounded,  and  he  simply  said,  "Shot  through  both 
thighs,"  and  passed  on.  About  this  time  we  heard  the  whoops 


145 

and  cheers  of  the  cavalry,  and  knew  that  the  Yankees  were 
whipped  and  falling  back.  We  marched  forward  and  occupied 
the  place  held  by  the  cavalry.  The  trees  looked  as  if  they  had 
been  cut  down  for  new  ground,  being  mutilated  and  shivered 
by  musket  and  cannon  balls.  Horses  were  writing  in  their  death 
agony,  and  the  sickening  odor  of  battle  filled  the  air.  Well 
well,  those  who  go  to  battle  may  expect  to  die.  An  halo  ever 
surrounds  the  soldier's  life,  because  he  is  ever  willing  to  die  for 
his  country. 

BATTLE  OF  DALLAS BRECKINIUDGE   CHARGES  THE  HEIGHTS. 

We  are  ordered  to  march  to  Dallas. 

Header,  somehow  the  name  and  character  of  General  John 
C.  Breckinridge  charms  me.  That  morning  he  looked  grand 
and  glorious.  His  infantry,  artillery,  and  cavalry  were  drawn 
up  in  line  of  battle  in  our  immediate  front.  He  passed  along 
the  line,  and  stopping  about  the  center  of  the  column,  said, 
u  Soldiers,  we  have  been  selected  to  go  forward  and  capture  yon 
heights.  Do  you  think  we  can  take  them  ?  I  will  lead  the  at 
tack."  The  men  whooped,  and  the  cry,  "We  can,  we  can,"  was 
heard  form  one  end  of  the  line  to  the  other.  Then,  "Forward, 
guide  center,  march !"  were  words  re-repeated  by  colonels  and 
captains.  They  debouched  through  the  woods,  and  passed  out  of 
sight  in  a  little  ravine,  when  we  saw  them  emerge  in  an  open 
field  and  advance  right  upon  the  Federal  breastworks.  It  was 
the  grandest  spectacle  I  ever  witnessed.  We  could  see  the  smoke 
and  dust  of  battle,  and  hear  the  shout  of  the  charge,  and  the  roai 
and  rattle  of  cannon  and  musketry.  But  Breckinridge's  division 
continued  to  press  forward,  without  wavering  or  hesitating. 
We  can  see  the  line  of  dead  and  wounded  along  the  track  over 
which  he  passed,  and  finally  we  see  our  battle  flag  planted  upon 
the  Federal  breastworks.  I  cannot  describe  the  scene.  If  you, 
reader,  are  an  old  soldier,  you  can  appreciate  my  failure  to  give 
a  pen  picture  of  battle.  But  Breckinridge  could  not  long  hold 
his  position.  Why  we  were  not  ordered  forward  to  follow  up 
his  success,  I  do  not  know;  but  remember,  reader,  I  am  not 
writing  history.  I  try  only  to  describe  events  as  I  witnessed 
them. 


146  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

We  marched  back  to  the  old  church  on  the  roadside,  called 
~New  Hope  church,  and  fortified,  occupying  the  battlefield  of  the 
day  before.  The  stench  and  sickening  odor  of  dead  men  and 
horses  were  terrible.  We  had  to  breathe  the  putrid  atmosphere. 

The  next  day,  Colonel  W.  M.  Voorhies'  Forty-eighth  Ten 
nessee  Regiment  took  position  on  our  right.  Now,  here  were 
all  the  Maury  county  boys  got  together  at  New  Hope  church. 
I  ate  dinner  with  Captain  Joe  Love,  and  Frank  Frierson  filled 
my  haversack  with  hardtack  and  bacon. 

BATTLE  OF  ZION  CHURCH,  JULY  4TH,  1864. 

The  4th  day  of  July,  twelve  months  before,  Pemberton  had 
surrendered  twenty-five  thousand  soldiers,  two  hundred  pieces 
of  artillery,  and  other  munitions  of  war  in  proportion,  at  Yicks- 
burg.  The  Yankees  wanted  to  celebrate  the  day.  They  thought 
it  was  their  lucky  day ;  but  old  Joe  thought  he  had  as  much  right 
to  celebrate  the  Sabbath  day  of  American  Independence  as  the 
Yankees  had,  and  we  celebrated  it.  About  dawn,  continued 
boom  of  cannon  reverberated  over  the  hills  as  if  firing  a  Fourth 
of  July  salute.  I  was  standing  on  top  of  our  works,  leveling 
them  off  with  a  spade.  A  sharpshooter  fired  at  me,  but  the  ball 
missed  me  and  shot  William  A.  Graham  through  the  heart.  He 
was  as  noble  and  brave  a  soldier  as  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life, 
and  lacked  but  a  few  votes  of  being  elected  captain  of  Company 
H,  at  the  re-organization.  He  was  smoking  his  pipe  when  he 
was  shot.  We  started  to  carry  him  to  the  rear,  but  he  remarked. 
"Boys,  it  is  useless ;  please  lay  me  down  and  let  me  die.'7  I 
have  never  in  my  life  seen  any  one  meet  death  more  philosoph 
ically.  He  was  dead  in  a  moment.  General  A.  J.  Yaughan, 
commanding  General  Preston  Smith's  brigade,  had  his  foot  shot 
off  by  a  cannon  ball  a  few  minutes  afterwards. 

It  seemed  that  both  Confederate  and  Federal  armies  were 
celebrating  the  Fourth  of  July.  I  cannot  now  remember  a  more 
severe  artillery  duel.  Two  hundred  cannon  were  roaring  and 
belching  like  blue  blazes.  It  was  but  a  battle  of  cannonade  all 
day  long.  It  seemed  as  though  the  Confederate  and  Federal 
cannons  were  talking  to  each  other.  Sometimes  a  ball  passing 


147 

over  would  seem  to  be  mad,  then  again  some  would  seem  to  be 
laughing,  some  would  be  mild,  some  sad,  same  gay,  some  sorrow 
ful,  some  rollicking  and  jolly;  and  then  again  some  would 
scream  like  the  ghosts  of  the  dead.  In  fact,  they  gave  forth 
every  kind  of  sound  that  you  could  imagine.  It  reminded  one 
of  when  two  storms  meet  in  mid  ocean — the  mountain  billows  of 
waters  coming  from  two  directions,  lash  against  the  vessel's  side, 
while  the  elements  are  filled  with  roaring,  thundering  and  light 
ning.  You  could  almost  feel  the  earth  roll  and  rock  like  a 
drunken  man,  or  a  ship,  when  she  rides  the  billows  in  an  awful 
storm.  It  seemed  that  the  earth  was  frequently  moved  from  its 
foundations,  and  you  could  hear  it  grate  as  it  moved.  But  all 
through  that  storm  of  battle,  every  soldier  stood  firm,  for  we 
knew  that  old  Joe  was  at  the  helm. 

KINGSTON. 

Here  General  Johnston  issued  his  first  battle  order,  that 
thus  far  he  had  gone  and  intended  to  go  no  further.  His  line 
of  battle  was  formed ;  his  skirmish  line  was  engaged ;  the  artil 
lery  was  booming  from  the  Rebel  lines.  Both  sides  were  now 
face  to  face.  There  were  no  earthworks  on  either  side.  It  was 
to  be  an  open  field  and  a  fair  fight,  when — "Fall  back !"  What's 
the  matter  ?  I  do  not  know  how  we  got  the  news,  but  here  is 
what  is  told  us — and  so  it  was,  every  position  we  ever  took. 
When  we  fell  back  the  news  would  be,  "Hood's  line  is  being 
enfiladed,  and  they  are  decimating  his  men,  and  he  can't  hold 
his  position."  But  we  fell  back  and  took  a  position  at 

CASSVILLE. 

Our  line  of  battle  was  formed  at  Cassville.  I  never  saw 
our  troops  happier  or  more  certain  of  success.  A  sort  of  grand 
halo  illumined  every  soldier's  face.  You  could  see  self-confi 
dence  in  the  features  of  every  private  soldier.  We  were  confi 
dent  of  victory  and  success.  It  was  like  going  to  a  frolic  or  a 
wedding.  Joy  was  welling  up  in  every  heart.  We  were  going 
to  whip  and  rout  the  Yankees.  It  seemed  to  be  anything  else 


148  CO.  H.,  FIEST  TENNESSEE  EEGIMENT. 

than  a  fight.  The  soldiers  were  jubilant.  Gladness  was  de 
picted  on  every  countenance.  I  honestly  believe  that  had  a 
battle  been  fought  at  this  place,  every  soldier  would  have  dis 
tinguished  himself.  I  believe  a  sort  of  fanaticism  had  entered 
their  souls,  that  whoever  was  killed  would  at  once  be  carried  to 
the  seventh  heaven.  I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  that  every  soldier 
had  faith  enough  in  old  Joe  to  have  charged  Sherman's  whole 
army.  When  "Halt !"  "Retreat !"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Gen 
eral  Hood  says  they  are  enfilading  his  line,  and  are  decimating 
his  men,  and  he  can't  hold  his  position. 

The  same  old  story  repeats  itself.  Old  Joe's  army  is  ever 
face  to  face  with  Sherman's  incendiaries.  We  have  faith  in  old 
Joe's  ability  to  meet  Sherman  whenever  he  d.ares  to  attack.  The 
soldiers  draw  their  regular  rations.  Every  time  a  blue  coat 
comes  in  sight,  there  is  a  dead  Yankee  to  bury.  Sherman  is 
getting  cautious,  his  army  hacked.  Thus  we  continue  to  fall 
back  for  four  months,  day  by  day,  for  one  hundred  and  ten  days, 
fighting  every  day  and  night. 

ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  CHATTAHOOCHEE. 

Our  army  had  crossed  the  Chattahoochee.  The  Federal 
army  was  on  the  other  side;  our  pickets  on  the  south  side,  the 
Yankees  on  the  north  side.  By  a  tacit  agreement,  as  had  ever 
been  the  custom,  there  was  no  firing  across  the  stream.  That 
was  considered  the  boundary.  It  mattered  not  how  large  or 
small  the  stream,  pickets  rarely  fired  at  each  other.  We  would 
stand  on  each  bank,  and  laugh  and  talk  and  brag  across  the 
stream. 

One  day,  while  standing  on  the  banks  of  the  Chattahoochee, 
a  Yankee  called  out : 

"Johnny,  O,  Johnny,  O,  Johnny  Reb." 

Johnny  answered,  "What  do  you  want  ?" 

"You  are  whipped,  aren't  you  ?" 

"No.  The  man  who  says  that  is  a  liar,  a  scoundrel,  and  a 
coward." 

"Well,  anyhow,  Joe  Johnston  is  relieved  of  the  command." 

"What?" 


149 

"General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  is  relieved." 

''What  is  that  you  say  ?" 

"General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  is  relieved,,  and  Hood  ap 
pointed  in  his  place." 

"'You  are  a  liar,  and  if  you  will  come  out  and  show  your 
self  I  will  shoot  you  down  in  your  tracks,  you  lying  Yankee 
galloot." 

"That's  more  than  I  will  stand.  If  the  others  will  hands 
off,  I  will  fight  a  duel  with  you.  Now,  show  your  manhood." 

Well,  reader,  every  word  of  this  is  true,  as  is  everything  in 
this  book.  Both  men  loaded  their  guns  and  stepped  out  to  their 
places.  They  were  both  to  load  and  fire  at  will,  until  one  or 
both  were  killed.  They  took  their  positions  without  either  try 
ing  to  get  the  advantage  of  the  other.  Then  some  one  gave  the 
command  to  "Fire  at  will ;  commence  firing."  They  fired  seven 
shots  each;  at  the  seventh  shot,  poor  Johnny  Reb  fell  a  corpse, 
pierced  through  the  heart. 

KEMOVAL   OF  GENERAL    JOSEPH   E.    JOHNSTON. 

Such  was  the  fact.  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  had  been 
removed,  and  General  J.  B.  Hood  appointed  to  take  command. 
Generals  Hardee  and  Kirby  Smith,  two  old  veterans,  who  had 
been  identified  with  the  Army  of  Tennessee  from  the  beginning, 
resigned.  '  We  had  received  the  intelligence  from  the  Yankees. 

The  relief  guard  confirmed  the  report. 

All  the  way  from  Rocky  Face  Ridge  to  Atlanta  was  a  battle 
of  a  hundred  days,  yet  Hood's  line  was  all  the  time  enfiladed 
and  his  men  decimated,  and  he  could  not  hold  his  position.  Old 
Joe  Johnston  had  taken  command  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee 
when  it  was  crushed  and  broken,  at  a  time  when  no  other  man  on 
earth  could  have  united  it.  He  found  it  in  rags  and  tatters, 
hungry  and  heart-broken,  the  morale  of  the  men  gone,  their 
manhood  vanished  to  the  winds,  their  pride  a  thing  of  the  past. 
Through  his  instrumentality  and  skillful  manipulation,  all  these 
had  been  restored.  We  had  been  under  his  command  nearly 
twelve  months.  He  was  more  popular  with  his  troops  day  by 
day.  We  had  made  a  long  and  arduous  campaign,  lasting  four 


150  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  BEGIMENT. 

months ;  there  was  not  a  single  day  in  that  four  months  that  did 
not  find  us  engaged  in  battle  with  the  enemy.  History  does 
not  record  a  single  instance  of  where  one  of  his  lines  was  ever 
broken — not  a  single  rout.  He  had  not  lost  a  single  piece  of 
artillery ;  he  had  dealt  the  enemy  heavy  blows ;  he  was  whipping 
them  day  by  day,  yet  keeping  his  own  men  intact ;  his  men  were 
in  as  good  spirits  and  as  sure  of  victory  at  the  end  of  four  months 
as  they  were  at  the  beginning;  instead  of  the  army  being  de 
pleted,  it  had  grown  in  strength.  'Tis  true,  he  had  fallen  back, 
but  it  was  to  give  his  enemy  the  heavier  blows.  He  brought  all 
the  powers  of  his  army  into  play;  ever  on  the  defensive,  'tis 
true,  yet  ever  striking  his  enemy  in  his  most  vulnerable  part. 
His  face  was  always  to  the  foe.  They  could  make  no  movement 
in  which  they  were  not  anticipated.  Such  a  man  was  Joseph 
E.  Johnston,  and  such  his  record.  Farewell,  old  fellow!  We 
privates  loved  you  because  you  made  us  love  ourselves.  Hardee, 
our  old  corps  commander,  whom  we  had  followed  for  nearly 
four  years,  and  whom  we  had  loved  and  respected  from  the  be 
ginning,  has  left  us.  Kirby  Smith  has  resigned  and  gone  home. 
The  spirit  of  our  good  and  honored  Leonidas  Polk  is  in  heaven, 
and  his  body  lies  yonder  on  the  Kennesaw  line.  General 
Breckenridge  and  other  generals  resigned.  I  lay  down  my  pen ; 
I  can  write  no  more;  my  heart  is  too  full.  Header,  this  is  the 
saddest  chapter  I  ever  wrote. 

But  now,  after  twenty  years,  I  can  see  where  General 
Joseph  E.  Johnston  made  many  blunders  in  not  attacking  Sher 
man's  line  at  some  point.  He  was  better  on  the  defensive  than 
the  aggressive,  and  hence,  bis  peccare  in  bello  non  licet. 

GENERAL  HOOD  TAKES  COMMAND. 

It  came  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  staggering  and  blinding 
every  one.  It  was  like  applying  a  lighted  match  to  an  immense 
magazine.  It  was  like  the  successful  gambler,  flushed  with  con 
tinual  winnings,  who  staked  his  all  and  lost.  It  was  like  the  end 
of  the  Southern  Confederacy.  Things  that  were,  were  not.  It 
was  the  end.  The  soldier  of  the  relief  guard  who  brought  us 
the  news  while  picketing  on  the  banks  of  the  Chattahoochee, 
remarked,  by  way  of  imparting  gently  the  information— 


HUNDRED  DAYS'  BATTLE.  151 

"Boys,  we've  fought  all  the  war  for  nothing.  There  is 
nothing  for  us  in  store  now." 

"What's  the  matter  now  ?" 

"General  Joe  Johnston  is  relieved,  Generals  Hardee  and 
Ivirby  Smith  has  resigned,  and  General  Hood  is  appointed  to 
take  command  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee." 

"My  God!  is  that  so?" 

"It  is  certainly  a  fact." 

"Then  I'll  never  fire  another  gun.  Any  news  or  letters 
that  you  wish  carried  home?  I've  quit,  and  am  going  home. 
Please  tender  my  resignation  to  Jeff  Davis  as  a  private  soldier 
in  the  C.  S.  Army." 

Five  men  of  that  picket — there  were  just  five — as  rapidly 
as  they  could,  took  off  their  cartridge-boxes,  after  throwing  down 
their  guns,  and  then  their  canteens  and  haversacks,  taking  out 
of  their  pockets  their  gun-wipers,  wrench  and  gun-stoppers,  and 
saying  they  would  have  no  more  use  for  "them  things."  They 
marched  off,  and  it  was  the  last  we  ever  saw  of  them.  In  ten 
minutes  they  were  across  the  river,  and  no  doubt  had  taken  the 
oath  of  allegiance  to  the  United  States  government.  Such  was 
the  sentiment  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee  at  that  time. 


152  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


CHAPTER  XIIL— ATLANTA. 

HOOD  STRIKES. 

General  John  B.  Hood  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  fight 
ing  man,  and  wishing  to  show  Jeff  Davis  what  a  "bully"  fighter 
he  was,  lights  in  on  the  Yankees  on  Peachtree  creek.  But  that 
was  "I  give  a  dare"  affair.  General  William  B.  Bate's  division 
gained  their  works,  but  did  not  long  hold  them. 

Our  division,  now  commanded  by  General  John  C.  Brown, 
was  supporting  Bate's  division;  our  regiment  supporting  the 
Hundred  and  Fifty-fourth  Tennessee,  which  was  pretty  badly 
cut  to  pieces,  and  I  remember  how  mad  they  seemed  to  be, 
because  they  had  to  fall  back. 

Hood  thought  he  would  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot,  and 
while  it  could  be  hammered  into  shape,  and  make  the  Yankees 
believe  that  it  was  the  powerful  arm  of  old  Joe  that  was  wielding 
the  sledge. 

But  he  was  like  the  fellow  who  took  a  piece  of  iron  to  the 
shop,  intending  to  make  him  an  ax.  After  working  for  some 
time  and  failing,  he  concluded  he  would  make  him  a  wedge,  and, 
failing  in  this,  said,  "I'll  make  a  skeow."  So  he  heats  the  iron 
red-hot  and  drops  it  into  the  slack-tub,  and  it  went  s-k-e-o-w,  bub 
ble,  bubble,  s-k-e-o-w,  bust. 

KILLING  A  YANKEE  SCOUT. 

On  the  night  of  the  20th,  the  Yankees  were  on  Peachtree 
creek,  advancing  toward  Atlanta.  I  was  a  videt  that  night,  on 
the  outpost  of  the  army.  I  could  plainly  hear  the  moving  of 
their  army,  even  the  talking  and  laughing  of  the  Federal  sol 
diers.  I  was  standing  in  an  old  sedge  field.  About  midnight 
everything  quieted  down.  I  was  alone  in  the  darkness,  left  to 
watch  while  the  army  slept.  The  pale  moon  was  on  the  wane, 
a  little  yellow  arc,  emitting  but  a  dim  light,  and  the  clouds  were 


ATLANTA.  153 

lazily  passing  over  it,  while  the  stars  seemed  trying  to  wink  and 
sparkle  and  make  night  beautiful.  I  thought  of  God,  of  heaven, 
of  home,  and  I  thought  of  Jennie — her  whom  I  had  ever  loved, 
and  who  had  given  me  her  troth  in  all  of  her  maiden  purity,  to 
be  my  darling  bride  so  soon  as  the  war  was  over.  I  thought  of 
the  scenes  of  my  childhood,  my  school-boy  days.  I  thought  of 
the  time  when  I  left  peace  and  home,  for  war  and  privations. 
I  had  Jennie's  picture  in  my  pocket  Bible,  alongside  of  a  braid 
of  her  beautiful  hair.  And  I  thought  of  how  good,  how  pure, 
and  how  beautiful  was  the  woman,  who,  if  I  lived,  would  share 
my  hopes  and  struggles,  my  happiness  as  well  as  troubles,  and 
who  would  be  my  darling  bride,  and  happiness  would  ever  be 
mine.  An  owl  had  lit  on  an  old  tree  near  me  and  began  to  uhoo, 
hoo,  hoo  are  you,"  and  his  mate  would  answer  back  from  the 
lugubrious  depths  of  the  Chattahoochee  swamps.  A  shivering 
owl  also  sat  on  the  limb  of  a  tree  and  kept  up  its  dismal  wailings. 
And  ever  now  and  then  I  could  hear  the  tingle,  tingle,  tingle  of 
a  cow  bell  in  the  distance,  and  the  shrill  cry  of  the  whip-poor- 
will.  The  shivering  owl  and  whip-poor-will  seemed  to  be  in  a 
sort  of  talk,  and  the  jack-o'-lanterns  seemed  to  be  playing  spirits 
—when,  hush !  what  is  that  ?  listen !  It  might  have  been  two 
o'clock,  and  I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  the  dim  outlines  of  a  Yan 
kee  soldier,  lying  on  the  ground  not  more  than  ten  steps-  from 
where  I  stood.  I  tried  to  imagine  it  was  a  stump  or  hallucina 
tion  of  the  imagination.  I  looked  at  it  again.  The  more  I 
looked  the  more  it  assumed  the  outlines  of  a  man.  Something 
glistens  in  his  eyes.  Am  I  mistaken?  Tut,  tut,  it's  nothing 
but  a  stump ;  you  are  getting  demoralized.  What !  it  seems  to 
be  getting  closer.  There  are  two  tiny  specks  that  shine  like  the 
eyes  of  a  cat  in  the  dark.  Look  here,  thought  I,  you  are  getting 
nervous.  Well,  I  can  stand  this  doubt  and  agony  no  longer;  1 
am  going  to  fire  at  that  object  anyhow,  let  come  what  will.  I 
raised  my  gun,  placed  it  to  my  shoulder,  took  deliberate  aim, 
and  fired,  and  waugh-weouw,  the  most  unearthly  scream  I  ever 
heard,  greeted  my  ears.  I  broke  and  run  to  a  tree  near  by,  and 
had  just  squatted  behind  it,  when  zip,  zip,  two  balls  from  our 
picket  post  struck  the  tree  in  two  inches  of  my  head.  I  hallooed 


154  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

to  our  picket  not  to  fire  that  it  was  "me,"  the  videt.  I  went 
back,  and  says  I,  "Who  fired  those  two  shots  ?"  Two  fellows 
spoke  up  and  said  that  they  did  it.  Ko  sooner  was  it  spoken, 
than  I  was  on  them  like  a  duck  on  a  June-bug,  pugnis  et  calcibus. 
We  "font  and  fit,  and  gouged  and  bit,"  right  there  in  that  picket 
post.  I  have  the  marks  on  my  face  and  forehead  where  one  of 
them  struck  me  with  a  Yankee  zinc  canteen,  filled  with  water. 
I  do  not  know  which  whipped.  My  friends  told  me  that  I 
whipped  both  of  them;  and  I  suppose  their  friends  told  them 
that  they  had  whipped  me.  All  I  know  is,  they  both  run,  and  T 
was  bloody  from  head  to  foot,  from  where  I  had  been  cut  in  the 
forehead  and  face  by  the  canteens.  This  all  happened  one  dark 
night  in  the  month  of  July,  1864,  in  the  rifle  pit  in  front  of 
Atlanta,  When  day  broke  the  next  morning,  I  went  forward 
to  where  I  had  shot  at  the  "boogaboo"  of  the  night  before,  and 
right  there  I  found  a  dead  Yankee  soldier,  fully  accoutered  for 
any  emergency,  his  eyes  wide  open.  I  looked  at  him,  and  I  said, 
"Old  fellow,  I  am  sorry  for  you;  didn't  know  it  was  you,  or  I 
would  have  been  worse  scared  than  I  was.  You  are  dressed 
mighty  fine,  old  fellow,  but  I  don't  want  anything  you  have  got, 
but  your  haversack."  It  was  a  nice  haversack,  made  of  chamois 
skin.  I  kept  it  until  the  end  of  the  war,  and  when  we  surren 
dered  at  Greensboro,  K  C.,  I  had  it  on.  But  the  other  soldiers 
who  were  with  me,  went  through  him  and  found  twelve  dollars 
in  greenback,  a  piece  of  tobacco,  a  gun-wiper  and  gun-stopper 
and  wrench,  a  looking-glass  and  pocket-comb,  and  various  and 
sundry  other  articles.  I  came  across  that  dead  Yankee  two  days 
afterwards,  and  he  was  as  naked  as  the  day  he  came  into  the 
world,  and  was  as  black  as  a  negro,  and  was  as  big  as  a  skinned 
horse.  He  had  mortified.  I  recollect  of  saying,  "Ugh,  ugh," 
and  of  my  hat  being  lifted  off  my  head,  by  my  hair,  which  stood 
up  like  the  quills  of  the  fretful  porcupine.  He  scared  me  worse 
when  dead  than  when  living. 

AN  OLD  CITIZEN. 

But  after  the  little  unpleasant  episode  in  the  rifle  pit,  I 
went  back  and  took  my  stand.     When  nearly  day,  I  saw  the 


ATLANTA.  155 

bright  and  beautiful  star  in  the  east  rise  above  the  tree  tops,  and 
the  gray  fog  from  off  the  river  begun  to  rise,  and  every  now  and 
then  could  hear  a  far  off  chicken  crow. 

While  I  was  looking  toward  the  Yankee  line,  I  saw  a  man 
riding  leisurely  along  on  horseback,  and  singing  a  sort  of  hum 
drum  tune.  I  took  him  to  be  some  old  citizen.  He  rode  on 
down  the  road  toward  me,  and  when  he  had  approached,  "Who 
goes  there  ?"  He  immediately  answered,  "A  friend."  I 
thought  that  I  recognized  the  voice  in  the  darkness — and  said  I, 
"Who  are  you  ?"  He  spoke  up,  and  gave  me  his  name.  Then, 
said  I,  "Advance,  friend,  but  you  are  my  prisoner."  He  rode 
on  toward  me,  and  I  soon  saw  that  it  was  Mr.  Mumford  Smith, 
the  old  sheriff  of  Maury  county.  I  was  very  glad  to  see  him, 
and  as  soon  as  the  relief  guard  came,  I  went  back  to  camp  with 
him.  I  do  not  remember  of  ever  in  my  life  being  more  glad  to 
see  any  person.  He  had  brought  a  letter  from  home,  from  my 
father,  and  some  Confederate  old  issue  bonds,  which  I  was 
mighty  glad  to  get,  and  also  a  letter  from  "the  gal  I  left  behind 
me,"  enclosing  a  rosebud  and  two  apple  blossoms,  resting  on  an 
arbor  vitse  leaf,  and  this  on  a  little  piece  of  white  paper,  and  on 
this  was  written  a  motto  (which  I  will  have  to  tell  for  the  young 
folks),  "Receive  me,  such  as  I  am;  would  that  I  were  of  more 
use  for  your  sake.  Jennie."  Now,  that  was  the  bouquet  part. 
I  would  not  like  to  tell  you  what  was  in  that  letter,  but  I  read 
that  letter  over  five  hundred  times,  and  remember  it  to-day.  I 
think  I  can  repeat  the  poetry  verbatim  et  literatim,  and  will  do 
so,  gentle  reader,  if  you  don't  laugh  at  me.  I'm  married  now, 
and  only  write  from  memory,  and  never  in  my  life  have  I  read  it 
in  book  or  paper,  and  only  in  that  letter — 

"I    love    you,    O,    how  dearly, 

Words  too  faintly  but  express; 
This  heart  beats  too  sincerely, 

E'er  in  life  to  love  you  less; 
No,  my  fancy  never  ranges, 

Hopes  like  mine,  can  never  soar; 
If  the  love  I  cherish,  changes, 

'Twill  only  be  to  love  you  more." 

Now,  fair  and  gentle  reader,  this  was  the  poetry,  and  yon 
see  for  yourself  that  there  was  no  "shenanigan"  in  that  letter ; 
and  if  a  fellow  "went  back"  on  that  sort  of  a  letter,  he  would 


156 


CO.  H.,  FIEST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


strike  his  "mammy."  And  then  the  letter  wound  up  with. 
"May  God  shield  and  protect  you,  and  prepare  you  for  what 
ever  is  in  store  for  you,  is  the  sincere  prayer  of  Jennie."  You 
may  be  sure  that  I  felt  good  and  happy,  indeed. 

MY  FEIENDS. 

Reader  mine,  in  writing  these  rapid  and  imperfect  recol 
lections,  I  find  that  should  I  attempt  to  write  up  all  the  details 
that  I  would  not  only  weary  you,  but  that  these  memoirs  would 
soon  become  monotonous  and  uninteresting.  I  have  written 
only  of  what  I  saw.  Many  little  acts  of  kindness  shown  me  by 
ladies  and  old  citizens,  I  have  omitted.  I  remember  going  to 
an  old  citizen's  house,  and  he  and  the  old  lady  were  making  clay 
pipes.  I  recollect  how  they  would  mold  the  pipes  and  put  them 
in  a  red-hot  stove  to  burn  hard.  Their  kindness  to  me  will  nevei 
be  forgotten.  The  first  time  that  I  went  there  they  seemed  very 
glad  to  see  me,  and  told  me  that  I  looked  exactly  like  their  son 
who  was  in  the  army.  I  asked  them  what  regiment  he  belonged 
to.  After  a  moment's  silence  the  old  lady,  her  voice  trembling 
as  she  spoke,  said  the  Fourteenth  Georgia,  and  then  she  began 
to  cry.  Then  the  old  man  said,  "Yes,  we  have  a  son  in  the 
army.  He  went  to  Virginia  the  first  year  of  the  war,  and  we 
have  never  heard  of  him  since.  These  wars  are  terrible,  sir. 
The  last  time  that  we  heard  of  him,  he  went  with  Stonewall 
Jackson  away  up  in  the  mountains  of  West  Virginia,  toward 
Romney,  and  I  did  hear  that  while  standing  picket  at  a  little 
place  called  Hampshire  Crossing,  on  a  little  stream  called  St. 
John's  Run,  he  and  eleven  others  froze  to  death.  We  have 
never  heard  of  him  since."  He  got  up  and  began  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  his  hands  crossed  behind  his  back.  I 
buckled  on  my  knapsack  to  go  back  to  camp,  and  I  shook  hand^- 
with  the  two  good  old  people,  and  they  told  me  good-bye,  and 
both  said,  "God  bless  you,  God  bless  you."  I  said  the  same  to 
them,  and  said,  "I  pray  God  to  reward  you,  and  bring  your  son 
safe  home  again."  When  I  got  back  to  camp  I  found  cannon 
and  caissons  moving,  and  I  knew  and  felt  that  General  Hood 
was  going  to  strike  the  enemy  again.  Preparations  were  going 


ATLANTA.  157 

on,  but  everything  seemed  to  be  out  of  order  and  system.  Men 
were  cursing,  and  seemed  to  be  dissatisfied  and  unhappy,  but 
the  army  was  moving. 

A    BODY    WITHOUT    LIMBS AN    ARMY    WITHOUT    CAVALRY. 

Forrest's  cavalry  had  been  sent  to  Mississippi;  Wheeler'^ 
cavalry  had  been  sent  to  North  Carolina  and  East  Tennessee. 
Hood  had  sent  off  both  of  his  "arms'7 — for  cavalry  was  always 
called  the  most  powerful  "arm"  of  the  service.  The  infantry 
were  the  feet,  and  the  artillery  the  body.  Now,  Hood  himself 
had  no  legs,  and  but  one  arm,  and  that  one  in  a  sling.  The  mosi 
terrible  and  disastrous  blow  that  the  South  ever  received  wat 
when  Hon.  Jefferson  Davis  placed  General  Hood  in  command 
of  the  Army  of  Tennessee.  I  saw,  I  will  say,  thousands  of  mer 
cry  like  babies — regular,  old-fashioned  boohoo,  boohoo,  boohoo. 

Now,  Hood  sent  off  all  his  cavalry  right  in  the  face  of  a 
powerful  army,  by  order  and  at  the  suggestion  of  Jeff  Davis, 
and  was  using  his  cannon  as  "feelers."  O,  God  !  Ye  gods  !  I 
get  sick  at  heart  even  at  this  late  day  when  I  think  of  it. 

I  remember  the  morning  that  General  Wheeler's  cavalry 
filed  by  our  brigade,  and  of  their  telling  us,  "Good-bye,  boys, 
good-bye,  boys."  The  First  Tennessee  Cavalry  and  Ninth  Bat 
talion  were  both  made  up  in  Maury  county.  I  saw  John  J. 
Stephenson,  my  friend  and  step-brother,  and  David  F.  Watkins 
my  own  dear  brother,  and  Arch  Lipscomb,  Joe  Fussell,  Captain 
3£inzer,  Jack  Gordon,  George  Martin,  Major  Dobbins,  Colonel 
Lewis,  Captain  Galloway,  Aaron  and  Sims  Latta,  Major  J.  H. 
Akin,  S.  H.  Armstrong,  Albert  Dobbins,  Alex  Dobbins,  Jim 
Cochran,  Rafe  Grisham,  Captain  Jim  Polk,  and  many  others 
with  whom  I  was  acquainted.  They  all  said,  "Good-bye,  Sam, 
good-bye,  Sam."  I  cried.  I  remember  stopping  the  whole  com 
mand  and  begging  them  to  please  not  leave  us ;  that  if  they  did, 
Atlanta,  and  perhaps  Hood's  whole  army,  would  surrender  in  ; 
few  days;  but  they  told  me;  as  near  as  I  can  now  remember 
"We  regret  to  leave  you,  but  we  have  to  obey  orders."  The 
most  ignorant  private  in  the  whole  army  saw  everything  that 
we  had  been  fighting  for  for  four  years  just  scattered  like  chaff 


158  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

to  the  winds.  All  the  Generals  resigned,  and  those  who  did  not 
resign  were  promoted;  colonels  were  made  brigadier-generals, 
captains  were  made  colonels,  and  the  private  soldier,  well,  he 
deserted,  don't  you  see?  The  private  soldiers  of  the  Army  of 
Tennessee  looked  upon  Hood  as  an  over-rated  general,  but  Jeft 
Davis  did  not. 

BATTLE  OF  JULY  22,   1864. 

Cannon  balls,  at  long  range,  were  falling  into  the  city  of 
Atlanta.  Details  of  citizens  put  out  the  fires  as  they  would 
occur  from  the  burning  shells.  We  could  see  the  smoke  rise  and 
hear  the  shells  pass  away  over  our  heads  as  they  went  on  toward 
the  doomed  city. 

One  morning  Cheatham's  corps  marched  out  and  through 
the  city,  we  knew  not  whither,  but  we  soon  learned  that  we  were 
going  to  make  a  flank  movement.  After  marching  four  or  five 
miles,  we  "about  faced"  and  marched  back  again  to  within  two 
hundred  yards  of  the  place  from  whence  we  started.  It  was  a 
"flank  movement,"  you  see,  and  had  to  be  counted  that  way  any 
how.  Well,  now  as  we  had  made  the  flank  movement,  we  had 
to  storm  and  take  the  Federal  lines,  because  we  had  made  a  flank 
movement,  you  see.  When  one  army  makes  a  flank  movement 
it  is  courtesy  on  the  part  of  the  other  army  to  recognize  the  flank 
movement,  and  to  change  his  base.  Why,  sir,  if  you  don't  rec 
ognize  a  flank  movement,  you  ain't  a  graduate  of  West  Point 
Hood  was  a  graduate  of  West  Point,  and  so  was  Sherman.  But 
unfortunately  there  was  Mynheer  Dutchman  commanding  (Mc- 
Pherson  had  gone  to  dinner)  the  corps  that  had  been  flanked, 
and  he  couldn't  speak  English  worth  a  cent.  He,  no  doubt,  had 
on  board  mein  lager  beer,  so  goot  as  vat  never  vas.  I  sweitzer, 
mein  Got,  you  bet.  Bang,  bang,  bang,  goes  our  skirmish  line 
advancing  to  the  attack.  Hans,  vat  fer  ish  dot  shooting  mil 
mein  left  wing  ?  Ish  dot  der  Repels,  Hans  ? 

THE  ATTACK. 

The  plan  of  battle,  as  conceived  and  put  into  action  by 
General  Clebume,  was  one  of  the  boldest  conceptions,  and,  at 


ATLANTA.  159 

the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  hazardous  that  ever  occurred  ir 
our  army  during  the  war,  but  it  only  required  nerve  and  pluck 
to  carry  it  out,  and  General  Cleburne  was  equal  to  the  occasion 
The  Yankees  had  fortified  on  two  ranges  of  hills,  leaving  a  gap 
in  their  breastworks  in  the  valley  entirely  unfortified  and  uii 
protected.  They  felt  that  they  could  enfilade  the  valley  between 
the  two  lines  so  that  no  troop  would  or  could  attack  at  this  weak 
point.  This  valley  was  covered  with  a  dense  undergrowth  o: 
trees  and  bushes.  General  Walker,  of  Georgia,  was  ordered  tc 
attack  on  the  extreme  right,  which  he  did  nobly  and  gallantly, 
giving  his  life  for  his  country  while  leading  his  men,  charging 
their  breastworks.  He  was  killed  on  the  very  top  of  their  works 
In  the  meantime  General  Cleburne's  division  was  marching  In 
the  right  flank  in  solid  column,  the  same  as  if  they  were  march 
ing  along  the  road,  right  up  this  valley,  and  thus  passing  between 
the  Yankee  lines  and  cutting  them  in  two,  when  the  command 
by  the  left  flank  was  given,  which  would  throw  them  into  line 
of  battle.  By  this  maneuver,  Cleburne's  men  were  right  upor 
their  flank,  and  enfilading  their  lines,  while  they  were  expecting 
an  attack  in  their  front.  It  was  the  finest  piece  of  generalshir 
and  the  most  successful  of  the  war. 

Shineral  Mynheer  Dutchman  says,  "Hans,  mein  Got !  meir 
Got !  vare  ish  Shineral  Mackf erson,  eh  ?  Mein  Got !  mein  Got ! 
I  shust  pelieve  dot  der  Repel  ish  cooming.  Hans,  go  cotch  dei 
filly  colt.  2sTow,  Hans,  I  vants  to  see  vedder  der  filly  colt  mid 
stand  fire.  You  get  on  der  filly  colt,  und  I  vill  get  pehind  dei 
house,  und  ven  you  shust  coome  galloping  py,  I  vill  say  £B-o-o-h,' 
und  if  der  filly  colt  don't  shump,  den  I  vill  know  dot  der  filly 
colt  mid  stand  fire."  Hans  says,  "Pap,  being  as  you  have  tc 
ride  her  in  the  battle,  yet  get  on  her,  and  let  me  say  booh.r 
Well,  Shineral  Mynheer  gets  on  the  colt,  and  Hans  gets  behind 
the  house,  and  as  the  general  comes  galloping  by,  Hans  had  go! 
an  umbrella,  and  on  seeing  his  father  approach,  suddenly  open? 
the  umbrella,  and  hallowing  at  the  top  of  his  voice  b-o-o-h! 
b-o-o-Ji!  B-O-O-H  !  The  filly  makes  a  sudden  jump  and  ker-flop 
comes  down  Mynheer.  He  jumps  up  and  says,  "Hans,  I  alvays 
knowed  dot  you  vas  a  vool.  You  make  too  pig  a  booh ;  vy,  you 


160  CO.    H.,    FIBST    TENNESSEE    EEGIMENT. 

said  booh  loud  enuff  to  scare  der  ole  horse.  Hans,  go  pring  out 
der  ole  horse.  Der  tarn  Repel  vill  be  here  pefore  Mackfersor 
gits  pack  from  der  dinner  time.  I  shust  peleve  dot  der  Repel 
ish  flanking,  und  dem  tarn  fool  curnells  of  meiii  ish  not  got  sense 
enuff  to  know  ven  Sheneral  Hood  is  flanking.  Hans,  bring  oul 
der  old  horse,  I  vant  to  find  out  vedder  Mackferson  ish  got  pack 
from  der  dinner  time  or  not." 

We  were  supporting  General  Cleburne's  division.  Our 
division  (Cheatham's)  was  commanded  by  General  John  C 
Brown.  Cleburne's  division  advanced  to  the  attack.  I  was 
marching  by  the  side  of  a  soldier  by  the  name  of  James  Gal- 
breath,  and  a  conscript  from  the  Mt.  Pleasant  country.  I  never 
heard  a  man  pray  and  "go  on"  so  before  in  my  life.  It  actually 
made  me  feel  sorry  for  the  poor  fellow.  Every  time  that  OUT 
line  would  stop  for  a  few  minutes,  he  would  get  down  on  hie 
knees  and  clasp  his  hands  and  commence  praying.  He  kepi 
saying,  "O,  my  poor  wife  and  children !  God  have  mercy  on 
my  poor  wife  and  children !  God  pity  me  and  have  mercy  01 
my  soul !"  Says  I,  "Galbreath,  what  are  you  making  a  fool  of 
yourself  that  way  for  ?  If  you  are  going  to  be  killed,  why  yoi 
are  as  ready  now  as  you  ever  will  be,  and  you  are  making  every 
body  feel  bad ;  quit  that  nonsense."  He  quit,  but  kept  mum 
bling  to  himself,  aGod  have  mercy!  God  have  mercy!"  Cle- 
burne  had  reached  the  Yankee  breastworks ;  the  firing  had  been 
and  was  then  terrific.  The  earth  jarred,  and  shook,  and  trem 
bled,  at  the  shock  of  battle  as  the  two  armies  met.  Charge 
men !  And  I  saw  the  Confederate  flag  side  by  side  with  the 
Federal  flag.  A  courier  dashed  up  and  said,  "General  Cleburnc 
has  captured  their  works — advance  and  attack  upon  his  imme 
diate  left.  Attention,  forward !"  A  discharge  of  cannon,  and 
a  ball  tore  through  our  ranks.  I  heard  Galbreath  yell  out,  "O, 
God,  have  mercy  on  my  poor  soul."  The  ball  had  cut  his  body 
nearly  in  two.  Poor  fellow,  he  had  gone  to  his  reward. 

We  advanced  to  the  attack  on  Cleburne's  immediate  left. 
Cleburne  himself  was  leading  us  in  person,  so  that  we  would 
not  fire  upon  his  men,  who  were  then  inside  the  Yankee  line 
His  sword  was  drawn.  I  heard  him  say,  "Follow  me,  boys.r 


ATLANTA.  161 

He  ran  forward,  and  amid  the  blazing  fires  of  the  Yankee  guns 
was  soon  on  top  of  the  enemy's  works.  He  had  on  a  bob-tail 
Confederate  coat,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  cut  out  of  a 
scrimp  pattern.  (You  see  I  remember  the  little  things).  We 
were  but  a  few  paces  behind,  following  close  upon  him,  and  soon 
had  captured  their  line  of  works.  We  were  firing  at  the  flying 
foe — astraddle  of  their  lines  of  battle.  This  would  naturally 
throw  us  in  front,  and  Cleburne's  corps  supporting  us.  The 
Yankee  lines  seemed  routed.  We  followed  in  hot  pursuit ;  but 
from  their  main  line  of  entrenchment — which  was  diagonal  tc 
those  that  we  had  just  captured,  and  also  on  which  they  had 
built  forts  and  erected  batteries — was  their  artillery,  raking  us 
fore  and  aft.  We  passed  over  a  hill  and  down  into  a  valley 
being  under  the  muzzles  of  this  rampart  of  death.  We  had 
been  charging  and  running,  and  had  stopped  to  catch  our  breath 
right  under  their  reserve  and  main  line  of  battle.  When  Gen 
eral  George  Maney  said,  "Soldiers,  you  are  ordered  to  go  for 
ward  and  charge  that  battery.  When  you  start  upon  the  charge 
I  want  you  to  go,  as  it  were,  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind.  Shoot 
down  and  bayonet  the  cannoneers,  and  take  their  guns  at  all 
hazards."  Old  Pat  Cleburne  thought  he  had  better  put  in  a 
word  to  his  soldiers.  He  says,  "You  hear  what  General  Maney 
says,  boys.  If  they  don't  take  it,  by  the  eternal  God,  you  have 
got  to  take  it!"  I  heard  an  Irishman  of  the  "bloody  Tinth," 
and  a  "darn  good  regiment,  be  jabbers,"  speak  up,  and  say, 
"Faith,  gineral,  we'll  take  up  a  collection  and  buy  you  a  bat- 
thery,  be  Jasus."  About  this  time  our  regiment  had  re-formed, 
and  had  got  their  breath,  and  the  order  was  given  to  charge,  and 
take  their  guns  even  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  We  rushed 
forward  up  the  steep  hill  sides,  the  seething  fires  from  ten 
thousand  muskets  and  small  arms,  and  forty  pieces  of  cannon 
hurled  right  into  our  very  faces,  scorching  and  burning  our 
clothes,  and  hands,  and  faces  from  their  rapid  discharges,  and 
piling  the  ground  with  our  dead  and  wounded  almost  in  heaps. 
It  seemed  that  the  hot  flames  of  hell  were  turned  loose  in  all 
their  fury,  while  the  demons  of  damnation  were  laughing  in  the 
flames,  like  seething  serpents  hissing  out  their  rage.  We  gave 


162  CO.    H.,   FIKST   TENNESSEE   EEGIMENT. 

one  long,  loud  cheer,  and  commenced  the  charge.  As  we  ap 
proached  their  lines,  like  a  mighty  inundation  of  the  river  Ache 
ron  in  the  infernal  regions,  Confederate  and  Federal  meet 
Officers  with  drawn  swords  meet  officers  with  drawn  swords,  and 
man  to  man  meets  man  to  man  with  bayonets  and  loaded  guns^ 
The  continued  roar  of  battle  sounded  like  unbottled  thunder. 
Blood  covered  the  ground;  and  the  dense  smoke  filled  our  eyes, 
and  ears,  and  faces.  The  groans  of  the  wounded  and  dying  rose 
above  the  thunder  of  battle.  But  being  heavily  supported  by 
Cleburne's  division,  and  by  General  L.  E.  Peak's  brigade, 
headed  and  led  by  General  Cleburne  in  person,  and  followed  by 
the  First  and  Twenty-seventh  up  the  blazing  crest,  the  Federal 
lines  waver,  and  break  and  fly,  leaving  us  in  possession  of  their 
breastworks,  and  the  battlefield,  and  I  do  not  know  how  many 
pieces  of  artillery,  prisoners  and  small  arms. 

Here  is  where  Major  Allen,  Lieutenant  Joe  Carney,  Cap 
tain  Joe  Carthell,  and  many  other  good  and  brave  spirits  gave 
their  lives  for  the  cause  of  their  country.  They  lie  to-day,  wel 
tering  in  their  own  life's  blood.  It  was  one  of  the  bloody  battles 
that  characterized  that  stormy  epoch,  and  it  was  the  22nd  of 
July,  and  one  of  the  hottest  days  I  ever  felt. 

General  George  Maney  led  us  in  the  heat  of  battle,  and  nc 
general  of  the  war  acted  with  more  gallantry  and  bravery  during 
the  whole  war  than  did  General  George  Maney  on  this  occasion 

The  victory  was  complete.  Large  quantities  of  provisions 
and  army  stores  were  captured.  The  Federals  had  abandoned 
their  entire  line  of  breastworks,  and  had  changed  their  base. 
They  were  fortifying  upon  our  left,  about  five  miles  off  from 
their  original  position.  The  battlefield  was  covered  with  their 
dead  and  wounded  soldiers.  I  have  never  seen  so  many  battle- 
flags  left  indiscriminately  upon  any  battlefield.  I  ran  over 
twenty  in  the  charge,  and  could  have  picked  them  up  every 
where  ;  did  pick  up  one,  and  was  promoted  to  fourth  corporal  f 01 
gallantry  in  picking  up  a  flag  on  the  battlefield. 

On  the  final  charge  that  was  made,  I  was  shot  in  the  ankle 
and  heel  of  my  foot.  I  crawled  into  their  abandoned  ditch, 
which  then  seemed  full  and  running  over  with  our  wounded 


ATLANTA.  163 

soldiers.  I  dodged  behind  the  embankment  to  get  out  of  the 
raking  fire  that  was  ripping  through  the  bushes,  and  tearing  up 
the  ground.  Here  I  felt  safe.  The  firing  raged  in  front;  we 
could  hear  the  shout  of  the  charge  and  the  clash  of  battle.  While 
I  was  sitting  here,  a  cannon  ball  came  tearing  down  the  works 
cutting  a  soldier's  head  off,  spattering  his  brains  all  over  my 
face  and  bosom,  and  mangling  and  tearing  four  or  five  others 
to  shreds.  As  a  wounded  horse  was  being  led  off,  a  cannon  ball 
struck  him,  and  he  was  literally  ripped  open,  falling  in  the  very 
place  I  had  just  moved  from. 

I  saw  an  ambulance  coming  from  toward  the  Yankee  line, 
at  full  gallop,  saw  them  stop  at  a  certain  place,  hastily  put  a 
dead  man  in  the  ambulance,  and  gallop  back  toward  the  Yankee 
lines.  I  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  this  maneuver  until  after 
the  battle,  when  I  learned  that  it  was  General  McPherson's  dead 
body. 

We  had  lost  many  a  good  and  noble  soldier.  The  casual- 
ties  on  our  side  were  frightful.  Generals,  colonels,  captains 
lieutenants,  sergeants,  corporals  and  privates  were  piled  indis 
criminately  everywhere.  Cannon,  caissons,  and  dead  horses 
were  piled  pell-mell.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  real  battlefield. 
Blood  had  gathered  in  pools,  and  in  some  instances  had  made 
streams  of  blood.  7Twas  a  picture  of  carnage  and  death. 

AM  PEOMOTED. 

"Why,  hello,  corporal,  where  did  you  get  those  two  yellow 
stripes  from  on  your  arm  ?" 

"Why,  sir,  I  have  been  promoted  for  gallantry  on  the  bat 
tlefield,  by  picking  up  an  orphan  flag,  that  had  been  run  over 
by  a  thousand  fellows,  and  when  I  picked  it  up  I  did  so  becaus- 
I  thought  it  was  pretty,  and  I  wanted  to  have  me  a  shirt  made 
out  of  it." 

"I  could  have  picked  up  forty,  had  I  known  that,"  said 
Sloan. 

"So  could  I,  but  I  knew  that  the  stragglers  would  pick 
them  up." 

Reader  mine,  the  above  dialogue  is  true  in  every  particular 


164  CO.    H.,    FIRST   TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

As  long  as  I  was  in  action,  fighting  for  my  country,  there  was 
no  chance  for  promotion,  but  as  soon  as  I  fell  out  of  ranks  and 
picked  up  a  forsaken  and  deserted  flag,  I  was  promoted  for  it 
I  felt  "sorter"  cheap  when  complimented  for  gallantry,  and  tlu 
high  honor  of  fourth  corporal  was  conferred  upon  me.  I  felj 
that  those  brave  and  noble  fellows  who  had  kept  on  in  the  charge 
were  more  entitled  to  the  honor  than  I  was,  for  when  the  baF 
struck  me  on  the  ankle  and  heel,  I  did  not  go  any  further.  And 
had  I  only  known  that  picking  up  flags  entitled  me  to  promotion 
and  that  every  flag  picked  up  would  raise  me  one  notch  higher 
I  would  have  quit  fighting  and  gone  to  picking  up  flags,  and  b\ 
that  means  I  would  have  soon  been  President  of  the  Confederate 
States  of  America.  But  honors  now  begin  to  cluster  around 
my  brow.  This  is  the  laurel  and  ivy  that  is  entwined  around 
the  noble  brows  of  victorious  and  renowned  generals.  I  hon 
estly  earned  the  exalted  honor  of  fourth  corporal  by  picking  ii]- 
a  Yankee  battle-flag  on  the  22nd  day  of  July,  at  Atlanta. 

28TH  OF  JULY  AT  ATLANTA. 

Another  battle  was  fought  by  Generals  Stephen  D.  Lee  an<" 
Stewart's  corps,  on  the  28th  day  of  July.  I  was  not  in  it, 
neither  was  our  corps,  but  from  what  I  afterwards  learned,  the 
Yankees  got  the  best  of  the  engagement.  But  our  troops  con 
tinued  fortifying  Atlanta.  ~No  other  battles  were  ever  fought 
at  this  place. 

I  VISIT  MONTGOMERY. 

Our  wounded  were  being;  sent  back  to  Montgomery.  My 
name  was  put  on  the  wounded  list.  We  were  placed  in  a  box 
car,  and  whirling  down  to  West  Point,  where  we  changed  cars 
for  Montgomery.  The  cars  drew  up  at  the  depot  at  Montgom 
ery,  and  we  were  directed  to  go  to  the  hospital.  When  we  got 
off  the  cars,  little  huckster  stands  were  everywhere — apples 
oranges,  peaches,  watermelons,  everything.  I  know  that  I  never 
saw  a  greater  display  of  eatables  in  my  whole  life.  I  was  par 
ticularly  attracted  toward  an  old  lady's  stand;  she  had  bread, 


ATLANTA.  165 

fish,  and  hard  boiled  eggs.  The  eggs  were  what  I  was  hungry 
for.  Says  I : 

"Madam,  how  do  you  sell  your  eggs  ?" 

"Two  for  a  dollar/'  she  said. 

"How  much  is  your  fish  worth  ?" 

"A  piece  of  bread  and  a  piece  of  fish  for  a  dollar." 

"Well,  madam,  put  out  your  fish  and  eggs."  The  fish  were 
hot  and  done  to  a  crisp — actually  frying  in  my  mouth,  crackling 
and  singing  as  I  bit  off  a  bite.  It  was  good,  I  tell  you.  The 
eggs  were  a  little  over  half  done.  I  soon  demolished  both,  and 
it  was  only  an  appetizer.  I  invested  a  couple  of  dollars  more, 
and  thought  that  may  be  I  could  make  out  till  supper  time. 
As  I  turned  around,  a  smiling,  one-legged  man  asked  me  if  I 
wouldn't  like  to  have  a  drink.  Now,  if  there  was  anything  that 
I  wanted  at  that  time,  it  was  a  drink. 

"How  do  you  sell  it  ?"  says  I. 

"A  dollar  a  drink,"  said  he. 

"Pour  me  out  a  drink." 

It  was  a.  tin  cap-box.  I  thought  that  I  knew  the  old  fel 
low,  and  he  kept  looking  at  me  as  if  he  knew  me.  Finally,  he 
said  to  me: 

"It  seems  that  I  ought  to  know  you." 

I  told  him  that  I  reckon  he  did,  as  I  had  been  there. 

"Ain't  your  name  Sam  ?"  said  he. 

"That  is  what  my  mother  called  me." 

Well,  after  shaking  hands,  it  suddenly  flashed  upon  me 
who  the  old  fellow  was.  I  knew  him  well.  He  told  me  that 
he  belonged  to  Captain  Ed.  O'Neil's  company,  Second  Tennes 
see  Regiment,  General  William  B.  Bate's  corps,  and  that  his 
leg  had  been  shot  off  at  the  first  battle  of  Manassas,  and  at  that 
time  he  was  selling  cheap  whisky  and  tobacco  for  a  living  at 
Montgomery,  Alabama.  I  tossed  off  a  cap-box  full  and  paid 
him  a  dollar.  It  staggered  me,  and  I  said : 

"That  is  raw  whisky." 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "all  my  cooked  whisky  is  out." 

"If  this  is  not  quite  cooked,  it  is  as  hot  as  fire  anyhow,  and 
burns  like  red-hot  lava,  and  the  whole  dose  seems  to  have  got 
lodged  in  my  windpipe." 


166  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

I  might  have  tasted  it,  but  don't  think  that  I  did.  All  I 
can  remember  now,  is  a  dim  recollection  of  a  nasty,  greasy, 
burning  something  going  down  my  throat  and  chest,  and  smell 
ing,  as  I  remember  at  this  day,  like  a  decoction  of  red-pepper 
tea,  flavored  with  coal  oil,  turpentine  and  tobacco  juice. 

THE   HOSPITAL. 

I  went  to  the  hospital  that  evening,  saw  it,  and  was  satis 
fied  with  hospital  life.  I  did  not  wish  to  be  called  a  hospital 
rat.  I  had  no  idea  of  taking  stock  and  making  my  headquar 
ters  at  this  place.  Everything  seemed  clean  and  nice  enough, 
but  the  smell !  Ye  gods !  I  stayed  there  for  supper.  The 
bill  of  fare  was  a  thin  slice  of  light  bread  and  a  plate  of  soup, 
already  dished  out  and  placed  at  every  plate.  I  ate  it,  but  it 
only  made  me  hungry.  At  nine  o'clock  I  had  to  go  to  bed,  and 
all  the  lights  were  put  out.  Every  man  had  a  little  bunk  to 
himself.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  slept  or  not,  but  I  have  a 
dim  recollection  of  "sawing  gourds,"  and  jumping  up  several 
times  to  keep  some  poor  wretch  from  strangling.  He  was  only 
snoring.  I  heard  rats  filing  away  at  night,  and  thought  that 
burglars  were  trying  to  get  in;  my  dreams  were  not  pleasant, 
if  I  went  to  sleep  at  all.  I  had  not  slept  off  of  the  ground  or  in 
a  house  in  three  years.  It  was  something  new  to  me,  and  I 
could  not  sleep,  for  the  room  was  so  dark  that  had  I  got  up  I 
could  not  have  found  my  way  out.  I  laid  there,  I  do  not  know 
how  long,  but  I  heard  a  rooster  crow,  and  a  dim  twilight  began 
to  glimmer  in  the  room,  and  even  footsteps  were  audible  in  the 
rooms  below.  I  got  sleepy  then,  and  went  off  in  a  doze.  I  had 
a  beautiful  dream — dreamed  that  I  was  in  heaven,  or  rather, 
that  a  pair  of  stairs  with  richly  carved  balusters  and  wings,  and 
golden  steps  overlaid  with  silk  and  golden-colored  carpeting 
came  down  from  heaven  to  my  room ;  and  two  beautiful  damsels 
kept  peeping,  and  laughing,  and  making  faces  at  me  from  the 
first  platform  of  these  steps ;  and  every  now  and  then  they  would 
bring  out  their  golden  harps,  and  sing  me  a  sweet  and  happy 
song.  Others  were  constantly  passing,  but  always  going  the 
same  way.  They  looked  like  so  many  school-girls,  all  dressed 


ATLANTA.  167 

in  shining  garments.  Two  or  three  times  the  two  beautiful 
girls  would  go  up  the  stairs  and  return,,  bringing  fruits  and 
vegetables  that  shined  like  pure  gold.  I  knew  that  I  never  had 
seen  two  more  beautiful  beings  on  earth.  The  steps  began  tc 
lengthen  out,  and  seemed  to  be  all  around  me;  they  seemed  to 
shine  a  halo  of  glory  all  about.  The  two  ladies  came  closer,  and 
closer,  passing  around,  having  a  beautiful  wreath  of  flowers  in 
each  hand,  and  gracefully  throwing  them  backward  and  forward 
as  they  laughed  and  danced  around  me.  Finally,  one  stopped 
and  knelt  down  over  me  and  whispered  something  in  my  ear. 
I  threw  up  my  arms  to  clasp  the  beautiful  vision  to  my  bosom, 
when  I  felt  my  arm  grabbed,  and  "D — n  ye,  I  wish  you  would 
keep  your  d — n  arm  off  my  wound,  ye  hurt  me,"  came  from  the 
soldier  in  the  next  bunk.  The  sun  was  shining  full  in  my  face. 
I  got  up  and  went  down  to  breakfast.  The  bill  of  fare  was 
much  better  for  breakfast  than  it  had  been  for  supper ;  in  fact, 
it  was  what  is  called  a  "jarvis"  breakfast.  After  breakfast,  I 
took  a  ramble  around  the  city.  It  was  a  nice  place,  and  mer 
chandise  and  other  business  was  being  carried  on  as  if  there  was 
no  war.  Hotels  were  doing  a  thriving  business;  steamboats 
were  at  the  wharf,  whistling  and  playing  their  calliopes.  I 
remember  the  one  I  heard  was  playing  "Away  Down  on  the 
Sewanee  River."  To  me  it  seemed  that  everybody  was  smiling, 
and  happy,  and  prosperous. 

THE  CAPITOL. 

I  went  to  the  capitol,  and  it  is  a  fine  building,  overlooking 
the  city.  When  I  got  there,  I  acted  just  like  everybody  that 
ever  visited  a  fine  building — they  wanted  to  go  on  top  and  look 
at  the  landscape.  That  is  what  they  all  say.  Now,  I  always 
wanted  to  go  on  top,  but  I  never  yet  thought  of  landscape. 
What  I  always  wanted  to  see,  was  how  far  I  could  look,  and 
that  is  about  all  that  any  of  them  wants.  It's  mighty  nice  to 
go  up  on  a  high  place  with  your  sweetheart,  and  hear  her  say. 
"La!  ain't  it  b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l,"  "Now,  now,  please  don't  go 
there,"  and  how  you  walk  up  pretty  close  to  the  edge  and  spit 
over,  to  show  what  a  brave  man  you  are.  It's  "bully,"  I  tell 


168  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

you.  Well,  I  wanted  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  capitol — I  went ; 
wanted  to  go  up  in  the  cupola.  Now,  there  was  an  iron  ladder 
running  up  across  an  empty  space,  and  you  could  see  two  hun 
dred  feet  below  from  this  cupola  or  dome  on  top.  The  ladder 
was  about  ten  feet  long,  spanning  the  dome.  It  was  very  easy 
to  go  up,  because  I  was  looking  up  all  the  time,  and  I  was  soon 
on  top  of  the  building.  I  saw  how  far  I  could  see,  and  saw  the 
Alabama  river,  winding  and  turning  until  it  seemed  no  larger 
than  a  silver  thread.  Well,  I  am  very  poor  at  describing  and 
going  into  ecstacies  over  fancies.  I  want  some  abler  pen  to 
describe  the  scene.  I  was  not  thinking  about  the  scene  or  the 
landscape — I  was  thinking  how  I  was  going  to  get  down  that 
ladder  again.  I  would  come  to  that  iron  ladder  and  peep  over, 
and  think  if  I  fell,  how  far  would  I  have  to  fall.  The  more  I 
thought  about  going  down  that  ladder,  the  more  I  didn't  feel 
like  going  down.  Well,  I  felt  that  I  had  rather  die  than  go 
down  that  ladder.  I'm  honest  in  this.  I  felt  like  jumping  off 
and  committing  suicide  rather  than  go  down  that  ladder.  I 
crossed  right  over  the  frightful  chasm,  but  when  forbearance 
ceased  to  be  a  virtue,  I  tremblingly  put  my  foot  on  the  first 
rung,  then  grabbed  the  top  of  the  two  projections.  There  I 
remained,  I  don't  know  how  long,  but  after  awhile  I  reached 
down  with  one  foot  and  touched  the  next  rung.  After  getting 
that  foot  firmly  placed,  I  ventured  to  risk  the  other  foot.  It 
was  thus  for  several  backward  steps,  until  I  come  to  see  down- 
away  down,  down,  down  below  me1 — and  my  head  got  giddy. 
The  world  seemed  to  be  turning  round  and  round.  A  fellow 
at  the  bottom  hallooed,  "Look  up !  look  up,  mister !  look  up !" 
I  was  not  a  foot  from  the  upper  floor.  As  soon  as  I  looked  at 
the  floor,  everything  got  steady.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the 
top  of  the  building,  and  soon  made  the  landing  on  terra  firma. 
I  have  never  liked  high  places  since.  I  never  could  bear 
to  go  up-stairs  in  a  house.  I  went  to  the  capitol  at  Nashville, 
last  winter,  and  McAndrews  wanted  me  to  go  up  in  the  cupola 
with  him.  He  went,  and  paid  a  quarter  for  the  privilege.  I 
staid,  and — well,  if  I  could  estimate  its  value  by  dollars — I 
would  say  two  hundred  and  fifty  million  dollars  is  what  I  made 
by  staying  down. 


ATLANTA.  169 

AM  ARRESTED. 

The  next  day,  while  the  ferryboat  was  crossing  the  river,  I 
asked  the  ferryman  to  let  me  ride  over.  I  was  halted  by  a 
soldier  who  "knowed"  his  business. 

"Your  pass,  sir!" 

"Well,  I  have  no  pass!" 

"Well,  sir,  I  will  have  to  arrest  you,  and  take  you  before 
the  provost  marshal." 

"Very  well,  sir ;  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  provost  or  any 
where  else." 

I  appear  before  the  provost  marshal. 

"What  command  do  you  belong  to,  sir  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  belong  to  Company  II,  First  Tennessee  Regi 
ment.  I  am  a  wounded  man  sent  to  the  hospital." 

"Well,  sir,  that's  too  thin ;  why  did  you  not  get  a  pass  ?" 

"I  did  not  think  one  was  required." 

"Give  me  your  name,  sir." 

I  gave  my  name. 

"Sergeant,  take  this  name  to  the  hospital  and  ask  if  such 
name  is  registered  on  their  books." 

I  told  him  that  I  knew  it  was  not.  The  sergeant  returns 
and  reports  no  such  name,  when  he  remarks : 

"You  have  to  go  to  the  guard-house." 

Says  I,  "Colonel  (I  knew  his  rank  was  that  of  captain), 
if  you  send  me  to  the  guard-house,  you  will  do  me  a  great 
wrong.  Here  is  where  I  was  wounded."  I  pulled  off  my  shoe 
and  began  to  unbandage. 

"Well,  sir,  I  don't  want  to  look  at  your  foot,  and  I  have  nc 
patience  with  you.  Take  him  to  the  guard-house." 

Turning  back  I  said,  "Sir,  aye,  aye,  you  are  clothed  with 
a  little  brief  authority,  and  appear  to  be  presuming  pretty  heavy 
on  that  authority;  but,  sir" — well  I  have  forgotten  what  I  did 
say.  The  sergeant  took  me  by  the  arm,  and  said,  "Come,  come, 
sir,  I  have  my  orders." 

As  I  was  going  up  the  street,  I  met  Captain  Dave  Buckner, 
and  told  him  all  the  circumstances  of  my  arrest  as  briefly  as  I 


170 


CO.    H.,   FIRST    TENNESSEE   REGIMENT. 


could.  He  said,  "Sergeant,  bring  him  back  with  me  to  the  pro 
vost  marshal's  office."  They  were  as  mad  as  wet  hens.  Their 
faces  were  burning,  and  I  could  see  their  jugular  veins  go 
thump,  thump,  thump.  I  do  not  know  what  Captain  Buckner 
said  to  them,  all  I  heard  were  the  words  "otherwise  insulted 
me."  But  I  was  liberated,  and  was  glad  of  it. 

THOSE   GIRLS. 

I  then  went  back  to  the  river,  and  gave  a  fellow  two  dollars- 
to  "row  me  over  the  ferry."  I  was  in  no  particular  hurry,  and 
limped  along  at  my  leisure  until  about  nightfall,  when  I  came 
to  a  nice,  cosy-looking  farm  house,  and  asked  to  stay  all  night. 
I  was  made  very  welcome,  indeed.  There  were  two  very  pretty 
girls  here,  and  I  could  have  "loved  either  were  'tother  dear 
charmer  away."  But  I  fell  in  love  with  both  of  them,  and 
thereby  overdid  the  thing.  This  was  by  a  dim  fire-light.  The 
next  day  was  Sunday,  and  we  all  went  to  church  in  the  country. 
We  went  in  an  old  rockaway  carriage.  I  remember  that  the 
preacher  used  the  words  "O,  God,"  nineteen  times  in  his  prayer. 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  which  one  of  the  girls  I  would  marry. 
Now,  don't  get  mad,  fair  reader  mine.  I  was  all  gallantry  and 
smiles,  and  when  we  arrived  at  home,  I  jumped  out  and  took 
hold  the  hand  of  my  fair  charmer  to  help  her  out.  She  put  her 
foot  out,  and — well,  I  came  very  near  telling — she  tramped  on  a 
cat.  The  cat  squalled. 

THE  TALISMAN. 

But  then,  you  know,  reader,  that  I  was  engaged  to  Jennie 
and  I  had  a  talisman  in  my  pocket  Bible,  in  the  way  of  a  love 
letter,  against  the  charms  of  other  beautiful  and  interesting 
young  ladies.  Uncle  Jimmie  Rieves  had  been  to  Maury  county, 
and,  on  returning  to  Atlanta,  found  out  that  I  was  wounded 
and  in  the  hospital  at  Montgomery,  and  brought  the  letter  to 
me;  and,  as  I  am  married  now,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  what 
was  in  the  letter,  if  you  won't  laugh  at  me.  You  see,  Jennie 
was  my  sweetheart,  and  here  is  my  sweetheart's  letter: 

My  Dear  Sam.:— I  write  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you  yet,  and  you  alone;  aud 


ATLANTA.  171 

day  by  day  I  love  you  more,  and  pray  every  night  and  morning  for  your  safe 
return  home  again.  My  greatest  grief  is  that  we  heard  you  were  wounded  #nd 
in  the  ho&pital,  and  I  cannot  be  with  you  to  nurse  you. 

We  heard  of  the  death  of  many  noble  and  brave  men  at  Atlanta;  and  the 
death  of  Captain  Carthell,  Cousin  Mary's  husband.  It  was  sent  by  Captain 
January;  he  belonged  to  the  Twelfth  Tennessee,  of  which  Colonel  Watklns 
was  lieutenant-colonel. 

The  weather  is  very  beautiful  here,  and  the  flowers  in  the  garden  are  in 
full  bloom,  and  the  apples  are  getting  ripe.  I  have  gathered  a  small  bouquet, 
which  I  will  put  in  the  letter;  I  also  send  by  Uncle  Jimmie  a  tobacco  bag,  and 
a  watch-guard,  made  out  of  horse  hair,  and  a  woolen  hood,  knit  with  my  own 
hands,  with  love  and  best  respects. 

We  heard  that  you  had  captured  a  flag  at  Atlanta,  and  was  promoted  for  it 
to  corporal.  Is  that  some  high  office?  I  know  you  will  be  a  general  yet,  because 
I  always  hear  of  your  being  in  every  battle,  and  always  the  foremost  man  in 
the  attack.  Sam,  please  take  care  of  yourself  for  my  sake,  and  don't  let  the 
Yankees  kill  you.  Well,  good-bye,  darling,  I  will  ever  pray  for  God's  richest 
and  choicest  blessings  upon  you.  Be  sure  and  write  a  long,  long  letter— I 
don't  care  how  long,  to  your  loving  and  sincere  JENNIE. 


THE  BRAVE  CAPTAIN. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  Alabama  river,  opposite  Mont 
gomery,  the  ferryboat  was  on  the  other  shore.  A  steamboat 
had  just  pulled  out  of  its  moorings  and  crossed  over  to  where  I 
was,  and  began  to  take  on  wood.  I  went  on  board,  and  told 
the  captain,  who  was  a  clever  and  good  man,  that  I  would  like 
to  take  a  trip  with  him  to  Mobile  and  back,  and  that  I  was  a 
wounded  soldier  from  the  hospital.  He  told  me  aAll  right 
come  along,  and  I  will  foot  expenses.'7 

It  was  about  sunset,  but  along  the  line  of  the  distant  hori 
zon  we  could  see  the  dark  and  heavy  clouds  begin  to  boil  up  in 
thick  and  ominous  columns.  The  lightning  was  darting  to  and 
fro  like  lurid  sheets  of  fire,  and  the  storm  seemed  to  be  gath 
ering  ;  we  could  hear  the  storm  king  in  his  chariot  in  the  clouds, 
rumbling  as  he  came,  but  a  dead  lull  was  seen  and  felt  in  the 
air  and  in  nature;  everything  was  in  a  holy  hush,  except  the 
hoarse  belchings  of  the  engines,  the  sizzing  and  frying  of  the 
boilers,  and  the  work  of  the  machinery  on  the  lower  deck.  At 
last  the  storm  burst  upon  us  in  all  its  fury;  it  was  a  tornado 
and  the  women  and  children  began  to  scream  and  pray — the 
mate  to  curse  and  swear.  I  was  standing  by  the  captain  on  the 
main  upper  deck,  as  he  was  trying  to  direct  the  pilot  how  to 
steer  the  boat  through  that  awful  storm,  when  we  heard  the 
alarm  bell  ring  out,  and  the  hoarse  cry  of  "Fire!  fire!  fire!" 
Men  were  running  toward  the  fire  with  buckets,  and  the  hose 
began  throwing  water  on  the  flames.  Men,  women,  and  chil 
dren  were  jumping  in  the  water,  and  the  captain  used  every 


172  CO.    H.,   FIRST   TENNESSEE    EEGIMENT. 

effort  to  quiet  the  panic,  and  to  land  his  boat  with  its  passengers, 
but  the  storm  and  fire  were  too  much,  and  down  the  vessel  sank 
to  rise  no  more.  Many  had  been  saved  in  the  lifeboat,  and 
many  were  drowned.  I  jumped  overboard,  and  the  last  thing 
I  saw  was  the  noble  and  brave  captain  still  ringing  the  bell,  as 
the  vessel  went  down.  He  went  down  amid  the  flames  to  fill  a 
wratery  grave.  The  water  was  full  of  struggling  and  dying 
people  for  miles.  I  did  not  go  to  Mobile. 

HOW  I  GET  BACK  TO  ATLANTA. 

When  I  got  to  Montgomery,  the  cars  said  toot,  toot,  and  I 
raised  the  hue  and  cry  and  followed  in  pursuit.  Kind  friends, 
I  fear  that  I  have  wearied  you  with  my  visit  to  Montgomery, 
but  I  am  going  back  to  camp  now,  and  will  not  leave  it  again 
until  our  banner  is  furled  never  to  be  again  unfurled. 

I,  you  remember,  was  without  a  pass,  and  did  not  wish  tc 
be  carried  a  second  time  before  that  good,  brave,  and  just  pro 
vost  marshal ;  and  something  told  me  not  to  go  to  the  hospital 
T  found  out  when  the  cars  would  leave,  and  thought  that  I  would 
get  on  them  and  go  back  without  any  trouble.  I  got  on  the 
cars,  but  was  hustled  off  mighty  quick,  because  I  had  no  pass. 
A  train  of  box-cars  was  about  leaving  for  West  Point,  and  I  took 
a  seat  on  top  of  one  of  them,  and  was  again  hustled  off;  but  I 
had  determined  to  go,  and  as  the  engine  began  to  puff,  and  tug. 
and  pull,  I  slipped  in  between  two  box-cars,  sitting  on  one  part 
of  one  and  putting  my  feet  on  the  other,  and  rode  this  way  until 
I.  got  to  West  Point.  The  conductor  discovered  me,  and  had 
put  me  off  several  times  before  I  got  to  West  Point,  but  I  would 
jump  on  again  as  soon  as  the  cars  started.  When  I  got  to  West 
Point,  a  train  of  cars  started  off,  and  I  ran,  trying  to  get  on. 
when  Captain  Peebles  reached  out  his  hand  and  pulled  me  in,, 
and  I  arrived  safe  and  sound  at  Atlanta. 

On  my  way  back  to  Atlanta,  I  got  with  Dow  Akin  and 
Billy  March.  Billy  March  had  been  shot  through  the  under 
jaw  by  a  minnie  ball  at  the  octagon  house,  but  by  proper  atten 
tion  and  nursing,  he  had  recovered.  Conner  Akin  was  killed 
at  the  octagon  house,  and  Dow  wounded.  When  we  got  back 


ATLANTA.  173 

to  the  regiment,  then  stationed  near  a  fine  concrete  house  (where 
Shepard  and  I  would  sleep  every  night),  nearly  right  on  our 
works,  we  found  two  thirty-two-pound  parrot  guns  stationed  in 
our  immediate  front,  and  throwing  shells  away  over  our  heads 
into  the  city  of  Atlanta.  We  had  just  begun  to  tell  all  the  boys 
howdy,  when  I  saw  Dow  Akin  fall.  A  fragment  of  shell  had 
struck  him  on  his  backbone,  and  he  was  carried  back  wounded 
and  bleeding.  We  could  see  the  smoke  boil  up,  and  it  would  be 
nearly  a  minute  before  we  would  hear  the  report  of  the  cannon, 
and  then  a  few  moments  after  we  would  hear  the  scream  of  the 
shell  as  it  went  on  to  Atlanta.  We  used  to  count  from  the  time 
we  would  see  the  smoke  boil  up  until  we  would  hear  the  noise, 
and  some  fellow  would  call  out,  "Look  out  boys,  the  'United 
States  is  sending  iron  over  into  the  Southern  Confederacy ;  let's 
send  a  little  lead  back  to  the  United  States."  And  we  would 
blaze  away  with  our  Enfield  and  Whitworth  guns,  and  every 
time  we  would  fire,  we  would  silence  those  parrot  guns.  This 
kind  of  fun  was  carried  on  for  forty-six  days. 

DEATH  OF  TOM  TUCK^S  BOOSTER. 

Atlanta  was  a  great  place  to  fight  chickens.  I  had  heard 
much  said  about  cock  pits  and  cock  fights,  but  had  never  seen 
such  a  thing.  Away  over  the  hill,  outside  of  the  range  of 
Thomas7  thirty-pound  parrot  guns,  with  which  he  was  trying 
to  burn  up  Atlanta,  the  boys  had  fixed  up  a  cock  pit.  It  was 
fixed  exactly  like  a  circus  ring,  and  seats  and  benches  were  ar 
ranged  for  the  spectators.  Well,  I  went  to  the  cock  fight  one 
day.  A  great  many  roosters  were  to  be  pitted  that  day,  and 
each  one  was  trimmed  and  gaffed.  A  gaff  is  a  long  keen  piect 
of  steel,  as  sharp  as  a  needle,  that  is  fitted  over  the  spurs.  Well, 
I  looked  on  at  the  fun.  Tom  Tuck's  rooster  was  named  South 
ern  Confederacy;  but  this  was  abbreviated  to  Confed.,  and  as 
a  pet  name,  they  called  him  Fed.  Well,  Fed  was  a  trained 
rooster,  and  would  "clean  up"  a  big-foot  rooster  as  soon  as  he 
was  put  in  the  pit.  But  Tom  always  gave  Fed  every  advan 
tage.  One  day  a  green-looking  country  hunk  came  in  with  a 
rooster  that  he  wanted  to  pit  against  Fed.  He  looked  like  a 


174  CO.    H.,   FIBST   TENNESSEE    BEGIMENT. 

common  rail-splitter.  The  money  was  soon  made  up,  and  the 
stakes  placed  in  proper  hands.  The  gaffs  were  fitted,  the  roos 
ters  were  placed  in  the  pit  and  held  until  both  were  sufficiently 
mad  to  fight,  when  they  were  turned  loose,  and  each  struck  at 
the  same  time.  I  looked  and  poor  Fed  was  dead.  The  other 
rooster  had  popped  both  gaffs  through  his  head.  He  was  a  dead 
rooster ;  yea,  a  dead  cock  in  the  pit.  Tom  went  and  picked  up 
his  rooster,  and  said,  "Poor  Fed,  I  loved  you ;  you  used  to  crow 
every  morning  at  daylight  to  wake  me  up.  I  have  carried  you 
a  long  time,  but,  alas !  alas !  poor  Fed,  your  days  are  numbered, 
and  those  who  fight  will  sometimes  be  slain.  Now,  friends, 
conscripts,  countrymen,  if  you  have  any  tears  to  shed,  prepare 
to  shed  them  now.  I  will  not  bury  Fed.  The  evil  that  roosters 
do  live  after  them,  but  the  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones. 
So  let  it  not  be  with  Confed.  Confed  left  no  will,  but  I  will 
pick  him,  and  fry  him,  and  dip  my  biscuit  in  his  gravy.  Poor 
Fed,  Confed,  Confederacy,  I  place  one  hand  on  my  heart  and 
one  on  my  head,  regretting  that  I  have  not  another  to  place  on 
my  stomach,  and  whisper,  softly  whisper,  in  the  most  doleful 
accents,  Good-bye,  farewell,  a  long  farewell." 

"Not  a  laugh  was  heard— not  even  a  joke- 
As  the  dead  rooster  in  the  camp-kettle  they  hurried; 
For  Tom   had   lost  ten   dollars,  and  was  broke, 
In  the  cock-pit   where  Confed  was  buried. 

"They  cooked  him  slowly  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 

As  the  frying-pan  they  were  solemnly  turning; 
The  hungry  fellows  looking  at  him  as  he  lay, 
With  one  side  raw,  the  other  burning. 

"Some  surplus  feathers  covered  his  breast, 

Not  in  a  shroud,  but  in  a  tiara  they  soused  him; 
He  lay  like  a  'picked  chicken'  taking  his  rest, 
While  the  Rebel  boys  danced  and  cursed  around  him. 

"Not  a  few  or  short  were  the  cuss  words  they  said, 

Yet,   they   spoke  many   words  of  sorrow; 
As  they  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead, 
And  thought  'what'll  we  do  for  chicken  to-morrow?' 

"Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  Southern  Confed.  that's  gone, 

And  o'er  his  empty  carcass  upbraid  him; 
But  nothing  he'll  reck,   if  they  let  him  sleep  on, 
In  the  place  where  they  have  laid  him. 

"Sadly  and  slowly  they  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  fame  fresh  .and  gory; 
They  ate  off  his  flesh,  and  threw  away  his  bones, 
And  then  left  them  alone  in  their  glory." 


ATLANTA.  175 

When,  cut,  slash,  bang,  debang,  and  here  comes  a  dash  of 
Yankee  cavalry,  right  in  the  midst  of  the  camp,  under  whip  and 
spur,  yelling  like  a  band  of  wild  Comanches,  and  bearing  right 
down  on  the  few  mourners  around  the  dead  body  of  Confed 
After  making  this  bold  dash,  they  about  faced,  and  were  soon 
out  of  sight.  There  was  no  harm  done,  but,  alas !  that  cooked 
chicken  was  gone.  Poor  Confed !  To  what  a  sad  end  you  have 
come.  Just  to  think,  that  but  a  few  short  hours  ago,  you  was 
a  proud  rooster — was  "cock  of  the  walk,"  and  was  considered 
invincible.  But,  alas !  you  have  sunk  so  low  as  to  become  food 
for  Federals !  Eequiescat  in  pace — you  can  crow  no  more. 

OLD  JOE  BROWN'S  PETS. 

By  way  of  grim  jest,  and  a  fitting  burlesque  to  tragic 
scenes,  or,  rather,  to  the  thing  called  "glorious  war,"  old  Joe 
Brown,  then  Governor  of  Georgia,  sent  in  his  militia.  It  was 
the  richest  picture  of  an  army  I  ever  saw.  It  beat  Forepaugh's 
double-ringed  circus.  Every  one  was  dressed  in  citizen's  clothes, 
and  the  very  best  they  had  at  that  time,  A  few  had  double- 
barreled  shot-guns,  but  the  majority  had  umbrellas  and  walking- 
sticks,  and  nearly  every  one  had  on  a  duster,  a  flat-bosomed 
"biled"  shirt,  and  a  plug  hat;  and,  to  make  the  thing  more  ridic 
ulous,  the  dwarf  and  the  giant  were  marching  side  by  side ;  the 
knock-kneed  by  the  side  of  the  bow-legged ;  the  driven-in  by  the 
side  of  the  drawn-out;  the  pale  and  sallow  dyspeptic,  who 
looked  like  Alex.  Stephens,  and  who  seemed  to  have  just  been 
taken  out  of  a  chimney  that  smoked  very  badly,  and  whose  diet 
was  goobers  and  sweet  potatoes,  was  placed  beside  the  three 
hundred-pounder,  who  was  dressed  up  to  kill,  and  whose  looks 
seemed  to  say,  "I've  got  a  substitute  in  the  army,  and  twenty 
negroes  at  home  besides — h-a-a-m,  h-a-a-m."  Now,  that  is  the 
sort  of  army  that  old  Joe  Brown  had  when  he  seceded  from  the 
Southern  Confederacy,  declaring  that  each  state  was  a  separate 
sovereign  government  of  itself;  and,  as  old  Joe  Brown,  was  an 
original  secessionist,  he  wanted  to  exemplify  the  grand  prin 
ciples  of  secession,  that  had  been  advocated  by  Patrick  Henry. 
John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  and  John  C.  Calhoun,  in  all  of 


176  CO.    H.,   FIEST   TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

whom  he  was  a  firm  believer.  I  will  say,  however,  in  all  due 
deference  to  the  Georgia  militia  and  old  Joe  Brown's  pets,  that 
there  was  many  a  gallant  and  noble  fellow  among  them.  I 
remember  on  one  occasion  that  I  was  detailed  to  report  to  a  cap 
tain  of  the  Fourth  Tennessee  Regiment  (Colonel  Farquharson. 
called  "Guidepost")  ;  I  have  forgotten  that  captain's  name.  He 
was  a  small-sized  man,  with  a  large,  long  set  of  black  whiskers. 
He  was  the  captain,  and  I  the  corporal  of  the  detail.  We  were 
ordered  to  take  a  company  of  the  Georgia  militia  on  a  scout. 
We  went  away  around  to  our  extreme  right  wing,  passing 
through  Terry's  mill  pond,  and  over  the  old  battlefield  of  the 
22nd>  and  past  the  place  where  General  Walker  fell,  when  we 
came  across  two  ladies.  One  of  them  kept  going  from  one  tree 
to  another,  and  saying:  "This  pine  tree,  that  pine  tree;  this 
pine  tree,  that  pine  tree."  In  answer  to  our  inquiry,  they  in 
formed  us  that  the  young  woman's  husband  was  killed  on  the 
22nd,  and  had  been  buried  under  a  pine  tree,  and  she  was  nearly 
crazy  because  she  could  not  find  his  dead  body.  We  passed  on, 
and  as  soon  as  we  came  in  sight  of  the  old  line  of  Yankee  breast 
works,  an  unexpected  volley  of  minnie  balls  was  fired  into  our 
ranks,  killing  this  captain  of  the  Fourth  Tennessee  Regiment 
and  killing  and  wounding  seven  or  eight  of  the  Georgia  militia. 
I  hallooed  to  lay  down,  as  soon  as  possible,  and  a  perfect  whizz 
of  minnie  balls  passed  over,  when  I  immediately  gave  the  com 
mand  of  attention,  forward,  charge  and  capture  that  squad. 
That  Georgia  militia,  every  man  of  them,  charged  forward,  and 
in  a  few  moments  we  ran  into  a  small  squad  of  Yankees,  and 
captured  the  whole  "lay  out."  We  then  carried  back  to  camp 
the  dead  captain  and  the  killed  and  wounded  militia.  I  had 
seen  a  great  many  men  killed  and  wounded,  but  some  how  or 
other  these  dead  and  wounded  men,  of  that  day,  made  a  more 
serious  impression  on  my  mind  than  in  any  previous  or  subse 
quent  battles.  They  were  buried  with  all  the  honors  of  war, 
and  I  never  will  forget  the  incidents  and  scenes  of  this  day  as 
long  as  I  live. 

WE  GO  AFTEE   STONEMAN. 

One  morning  our  regiment  was  ordered  to  march,  double- 


ATLANTA.  177 

quick,  to  the  depot  to  take  the  cars  for  somewhere.  The  engine 
was  under  steam,  and  ready  to  start  for  that  mysterious  some 
where.  The  whistle  blew  long  and  loud,  and  away  we  went  at 
break-neck  speed  for  an  hour,  and  drew  up  at  a  little  place  by 
the  name  of  Jonesboro.  The  Yankees  had  captured  the  town, 
and  were  tearing  up  the  railroad  track.  A  regiment  of  Rebel 
infantry  and  a  brigade  of  cavalry  were  already  in  line  of  battle 
in  their  rear.  We  jumped  out  of  the  cars  and  advanced  to 
attack  them  in  front.  Our  line  had  just  begun  to  open  a  pretty 
brisk  fire  on  the  Yankee  cavalry,  when  they  broke,  running 
right  through  and  over  the  lines  of  the  regiment  of  infantry 
and  brigade  of  cavalry  in  their  rear,  the  men  opening  ranks  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  the  hoofs  of  their  horses.  It  was  Stone- 
man's  cavalry,  upon  its  celebrated  raid  toward  Macon  and  An- 
dersonville  to  liberate  the  Federal  prisoners.  We  went  to  work 
like  beavers,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  railroad  track  had  been 
repaired  so  that  we  could  pass.  Every  few  miles  we  would  find 
the  track  torn  up,  but  we  would  get  out  of  the  cars,  fix  up  the 
track,  and  light  out  again.  We  were  charging  a  brigade  of  cav 
alry  with  a  train  of  cars,  as  it  were.  They  would  try  to  stop 
our  progress  by  tearing  up  the  track,  but  we  were  crowding  them 
a  little  too  strong.  At  last  they  thought  it  was  time  to  quit  that 
foolishness,  and  then  commenced  a  race  between  cavalry  and  care- 
for  Macon,  Georgia.  The  cars  had  to  run  exceedingly  slow  and 
careful,  fearing  a  tear  up  or  ambuscade,  but  at  last  Macon 
came  in  sight.  Twenty-five  or  thirty  thousand  Federal  pris 
oners  were  confined  at  this  place,  and  it  was  poorly  guarded  and 
protected.  We  feared  that  Stoneman  would  only  march  in, 
overpower  the  guards,  and  liberate  the  prisoners,  and  we  would 
have  some  tall  fighting  to  do,  but  on  arriving  at  Macon,  we  found 
that  Stoneman  and  all  of  his  command  had  just  surrendered  tc 
a  brigade  of  cavalry  and  the  Georgia  militia,  and  we  helped 
inarch  the  gentlemen  inside  the  prison  walls  at  Macon.  They 
had  furnished  their  own  transportation,  paying  their  own  way 
and  bearing  their  own  expenses,  and  instead  of  liberating  any 
prisoners,  were  themselves  imprisoned.  An  extra  detail  was 
made  as  guard  from  our  regiment  to  take  them  on  to  Anderson- 


178  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

ville,  but  I  was  not  on  this  detail,  so  I  remained  until  the  detail 
returned. 

Macon  is  a  beautiful  place.  Business  was  flourishing  like 
a  green  bay  tree.  The  people  were  good,  kind,  and  clever  to  us. 
Everywhere  the  hospitality  of  their  homes  was  proffered  us 
We  were  regarded  as  their  liberators.  They  gave  us  all  the  good 
things  they  had — eating,  drinking,  etc.  We  felt  our  conse 
quence,  I  assure  you,  reader.  We  felt  we  were  heroes,  indeed ; 
but  the  benzine  and  other  fluids  became  a  little  pronaiscuous 
and  the  libations  of  the  boys  a  little  too  heavy.  They  began  to 
get  boisterous — I  might  say,  riotous.  Some  of  the  boys  got  to 
behaving  badly,  and  would  go  into  stores  and  places,  and  did 
many  things  they  ought  not  to  have  done.  In  fact,  the  whole 
caboodle  of  them  ought  to  have  been  carried  to  the  guard-house. 
They  were  whooping,  and  yelling,  and  firing  off  their  guns,  just 
for  the  fun  of  the  thing.  I  remember  of  going  into  a  very  nice 
family's  house,  and  the  old  lady  told  the  dog  to  go  out,  go  out, 
sir!  and  remarked  rather  to  herself,  "Go  out,  go  out!  I  wish 
you  were  killed,  anyhow."  John  says,  "Madam,  do  you  want 
that  dog  killed,  sure  enough  ?"  She  says,  "Yes,  I  do.  I  dc 
wish  that  he  was  dead."  Before  I  could  even  think  or  catch  my 
breath,  bang  went  John's  gun,  and  the  dog  was  weltering  in  his 
blood  right  on  the  good  lady's  floor,  the  top  of  his  head  entirely 
torn  off.  I  confess,  reader,  that  I  came  very  near  jumping  out 
of  my  skin,  as  it  were,  at  the  unexpected  discharge  of  the  gun. 
And  other  such  scenes,  I  reckon,  were  being  enacted  elsewhere 
but  at  last  a  detail  was  sent  around  to  arrest  all  stragglers,  and 
we  were  soon  rolling  back  to  Atlanta. 

"BELLUM  LETHALE/' 

Well,  after  "jugging"  Stoneman,  we  go  back  to  Atlanta 
and  occupy  our  same  old  place  near  the  concrete  house.  We 
found  everything  exactly  as  we  had  left  it,  with  the  exception 
of  the  increased  number  of  graybacks,  which  seemed  to  have 
propagated  a  thousand-fold  since  we  left,  and  they  were  crawl 
ing  about  like  ants,  making  little  paths  and  tracks  in  the  dirt 
as  they  wiggled  and  waddled  about,  hunting  for  ye  old  Rebel 


ATLANTA.  179 

soldier.  Sherman's  two  thirty-pound  parrot  guns  were  in  the 
same  position,  and  every  now  and  then  a  lazy-looking  shell 
would  pass  over,  speeding  its  way  on  to  Atlanta. 

The  old  citizens  had  dug  little  cellars,  which  the  soldiers 
called  ''gopher  holes/'  and  the  women  and  children  were  crowd 
ed  together  in  these  cellars,  while  Sherman  was  trying  to  burn 
the  city  over  their  heads.  But,  as  I  am  not  writing  history,  I 
refer  you  to  any  history  of  the  war  for  Sherman's  war  record  in 
and  around  Atlanta. 

As  John  and  I  started  to  go  back,  we  thought  we  would 
visit  the  hospital.  Great  God !  I  get  sick  to-day  when  I  think 
of  the  agony,  and  suffering,  and  sickening  stench  and  odor  of 
dead  and  dying;  of  wounds  and  sloughing  sores,  caused  by  the 
deadly  gangrene;  of  the  groaning  and  wailing.  I  cannot  de 
scribe  it.  I  remember,  I  went  in  the  rear  of  the  building,  and 
there  I  saw  a  pile  of  arms  and  legs,  rotting  and  decomposing; 
and,  although  I  saw  thousands  of  horrifying  scenes  'during  the 
war,  yet  to-day  I  have  no  recollection  in  my  whole  life,  of  evei 
seeing  anything  that  I  remember  with  more  horror  than  that 
pile  of  legs  and  arms  that  had  been  cut  off  our  soldiers.  As 
John  and  I  went  through  the  hospital,  and  were  looking  at  the 
poor  suffering  fellows,  I  heard  a  weak  voice  calling,  "Sam,  O, 
Sam."  I  went  to  the  poor  fellow,  but  did  not  recognize  him  at 
first,  but  soon  found  out  that  it  was  James  Galbreath,  the  pool 
fellow  who  had  been  shot  nearly  in  two  on  the  22nd  of  July.  I 
tried  to  be  cheerful,  and  said,  "Hello,  Galbreath,  old  fellow,  I 
thought  you  were  in  heaven  long  before  this."  He  laughed  a 
sort  of  dry,  cracking  laugh,  and  asked  me  to  hand  him  a  drink 
of  water.  I  handed  it  to  him.  He  then  began  to  mumble  and 
tell  me  something  in  a  rambling  and  incoherent  way,  but  all  I 
could  catch  was  for  me  to  write  to  his  family,  who  were  living 
near  Mt.  Pleasant.  I  asked  him  if  he  was  badly  wounded. 
He  only  pulled  down  the  blanket,  that  was  all.  I  get  sick  when 
I  think  of  it.  The  lower  part  of  his  body  was  hanging  to  the 
upper  part  by  a  shred,  and  all  of  his  entrails  were  lying  on  the 
cot  with  him,  the  bile  and  other  excrements  exuding  from  them, 
and  they  full  of  maggots.  I  replaced  the  blanket  as  tenderly 


180  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  EEGIMENT. 

as  I  could,  and  then  said,  "Galbreath,  good-bye."  I  then  kissed 
him  on  his  lips  and  forehead,  and  left.  As  I  passed  on,  he  kept 
trying  to  tell  me1  something,  but  I  could  not  make  out  what  he 
said,  and  fearing  I  would  cause  him  to  exert  himself  too  much. 
I  left. 

It  was  the  only  field  hospital  that  I  saw  during  the  whole 
war,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  see  another.  Those  hollow-eyed 
and  sunken-cheeked  sufferers,  shot  in  every  conceivable  part  of 
the  body ;  some  shrieking,  and  calling  upon  their  mothers ;  some 
laughing  the  hard,  cackling  laugh  of  the  sufferer  without  hope 
and  some  cursing  like  troopers,  and  some  writhing  and  groaning 
as  their  wounds  were  being  bandaged  and  dressed.  I  saw  a 
man  of  the  Twenty-seventh,  who  had  lost  his  right  hand,  another 
his  leg,  then  another  whose  head  was  laid  open,  and  I  could  see 
his  brain  thump,  and  another  with  his  under  jaw  shot  off;  ir 
fact,  wounded  in  every  manner  possible. 

Ah !  reader,  there  is  no  glory  for  the  private  soldier,  much 
less  a  conscript.  James  Galbreath  was  a  conscript,  as  was  also 
Fain  King.  Mr.  King  was  killed  at  Chickamauga.  He  and 
Galbreath  were  conscripted  and  joined  Company  H  at  the  same 
time.  Both  were  old  men,  and  very  poor,  with  large  families 
at  home ;  and  they  were  forced  to  go  to  war  against  their  wishes, 
while  their  wives  and  little  children  were  at  home  without  the 
necessaries  of  life.  The  officers  have  all  the  glory.  Glory  is 
not  for  the  private  soldier,  such  as  die  in  the  hospitals,  being 
eat  up  with  the  deadly  gangrene,  and  being  imperfectly  waited 
on.  Glory  is  for  generals,  colonels,  majors,  captains,  and  lieu 
tenants.  They  have  all  the  glory,  and  when  the  poor  private 
wins  battles  by  dint  of  sweat,  hard  marches,  camp  and  picket 
duty,  fasting  and  broken  bones,  the  officers  get  the  glory.  The 
private's  pay  was  eleven  dollars  per  month,  if  he  got  it;  the 
general's  pay  was  three  hundred  dollars  per  month,  and  he  al 
ways  got  his.  I  am  not  complaining.  These  things  happened 
sixteen  to  twenty  years  ago.  Men  who  never  fired  a  gun,  noi 
killed  a  Yankee  during  the  whole  war,  are  to-day  the  heroes  of 
the  war.  Now,  I  tell  you  what  I  think  about  it :  I  think  thai 
those  of  us  who  fought  as  private  soldiers,  fought  as  much  foi 


ATLANTA.  181 

glory  as  the  general  did,  and  those  of  us  who  stuck  it  out  to  the 
last,  deserve  more  praise  than  the  general  who  resigned  because 
some  other  general  was  placed  in  command  over  him.  A  gen 
eral  could  resign.  That  was  honorable.  A  private  could  not 
resign,  nor  choose  his  branch  of  service,  and  if  he  deserted,  it 
was  death. 

THE  SCOUT  AND  DEATH  OF  A  YANKEE  LIEUTENANT. 

General  Hood  had  sent  off  all  his  cavalry,  and  a  detail  was 
made  each  day  of  co  many  men  for  a  scout,  to  find  out  all  we 
could  about  the  movements  of  the  Yankees.  Colonel  George 
Porter,  of  the  Sixth  Tennessee,,  was  in  command  of  the  detail. 
We  passed  through  Atlanta,  and  went  down  the  railroad  foi 
several  miles,  and  then  made  a  flank  movement  toward  where 
we  expected  to  come  in  contact  with  the  Yankees.  When  we 
came  to  a  skirt  of  woods,  we  were  deployed  as  skirmishers, 
Colonel  Porter  ordered  us  to  re-prime  our  guns  and  to  advance 
at  twenty-five  paces  apart,  being  deployed  as  skirmishers,  and 
to  keep  under  cover  as  much  as  possible.  He  need  not  have  told 
us  this,  because  we  had  not  learned  war  for  nothing.  We  would 
run  from  one  tree  to  another,  and  then  make  a  careful  recon- 
noiter  before  proceeding  to  another.  We  had  begun  to  get  a 
little  careless,  when  bang !  bang !  bang !  It  seemed  that  we  had 
got  into  a  Yankee  ambush.  The  firing  seemed  to  be  from  all 
sides,  and  was  rattling  among  the  leaves  and  bushes.  It  ap 
peared  as  if  some  supernatural,  infernal  battle  was  going  on 
and  the  air  was  full  of  smoke.  We  had  not  seen  the  Yankees 
I  ran  to  a  tree  to  my  right,  and  just  as  I  got  to  it,  I  saw  my  com 
rade  sink  to  the  ground,  clutching  at  the  air  as  he  fell  dead.  I 
kept  trying  to  see  the  Yankees,  so  that  I  might  shoot.  I  had 
been  looking  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  when  happening  to  look 
not  more  than  ten  paces  from  me,  I  saw  a  big  six-foot  Yankee 
with  a  black  feather  in  his  hat,  aiming  deliberately  at  me.  I 
dropped  to  the  ground,  and  at  the  same  moment  heard  the  re 
port,  and  my  hat  was  knocked  off  in  the  bushes.  I  remained 
perfectly  still,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  saw  a  young  Yanker 
lieutenant  peering  through  the  bushes.  I  would  rather  not  have 


182  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

killed  him,  but  I  was  afraid  to  fire  and  afraid  to  run,  and  yet  I 
did  not  wish  to  kill  him.  He  was  as  pretty  as  a  woman,  and 
somehow  I  thought  I  had  met  him  before.  Our  eyes  met.  He 
stood  like  a  statue.  He  gazed  at  me  with  a  kind  of  scared  ex 
pression.  I  still  did  not  want  to  kill  him,  and  am  sorry  to-day 
that  I  did,  for  I  believe  I  could  have  captured  him,  but  I  fired, 
and  saw  the  blood  spurt  all  over  his  face.  He  was  the  prettiest 
youth  I  ever  saw.  When  I  fired,  the  Yankees  broke  and  run, 
and  I  went  up  to  the  boy  I  had  killed,  and  the  blood  was  gushing 
out  of  his  mouth.  I  was  sorry. 

ATLANTA   FORSAKEN. 

One  morning  about  the  break  of  day  our  artillery  opened 
along  our  breastworks,  scaring  us  almost  to  death,  for  it  was  the 
first  guns  that  had  been  fired  for  more  than  a  month.  We 
sprang  to  our  feet  and  grabbed  our  muskets,  and  ran  out  and 
asked  some  one  what  did  that  mean.  We  were  informed  that 
they  were  "feeling"  for  the  Yankees.  The  comment  that  was 
made  by  the  private  soldier  was  simply  two  words;  and  those 
two  words  were  "O,  shucks."  The  Yankees  had  gone — no  one 
knew  whither — and  our  batteries  were  shelling  the  wx>ods,  feel 
ing  for  them.  "O,  shucks." 

"Hello,"  says  Hood,  "Whar  in  the  Dickens  and  Tom 
Walker  are  them  Yanks,  hey  ?  Feel  for  them  with  long-range 
'feelers.' '  A  boom,  boom.  "Can  anybody  tell  me  whar  their 
Yanks  are  ?  Send  out  a  few  more  'feelers.7  The  feelers  in  the 
shape  of  cannon  balls  will  bring  them  to  taw."  Boom,  boom, 
boom. 

"For  the  want  of  a  nail,  the  shoe  was  lost, 
For  the  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost, 
For  the  want  of  a  horse  the  general  was  lost, 
For  the  want  of  a  general  the  battle  was  lost." 

Forrest's  cavalry  had  been  sent  off  somewhere.  Wheeler's 
cavalry  had  been  sent  awray  yonder  in  the  rear  of  the  enemy  tc 
tear  up  the  railroad  and  cut  of  their  supplies,  etc.,  and  we  had 
to  find  out  the  movements  of  the  enemy  by  "feeling  for  them" 
by  shelling  the  vacant  woods.  The  Yankees  were  at  that  time 
twenty-five  miles  in  our  rear,  "a  hundred  thousand  strong,"  at 


ATLANTA.  183 

a  place  called  Jonesboro.     I  do  not  know  how  it  was  found  out 
that  they  were  at  Jonesboro,  but  anyhow,  the  news  had  come 
and  Cheatham's  corps  had  to  go  and  see  about  it. 

Stewart's  corps  must  hold  Atlanta,  and  Stephen  D.  Lee',c 
corps  must  be  stretched  at  proper  distance,  so  that  the  word 
could  be  passed  backward  and  forward  as  to  how  they  were  get 
ting  along.  As  yet  it  is  impossible  to  tell  of  the  movements  of 
the  enemy,  because  our  cannon  balls  had  not  come  back  and 
reported  any  movements  to  us.  We  had  always  heard  that  can 
non  balls  were  blind,  and  we  did  not  suppose  they  could  see  tc 
find  their  way  back.  Well,  our  corps  made  a  forced  march  foi 
a  day  and  a  night,  and  passed  the  word  back  that  we  had  seen 
some  signs  of  the  Yankees  being  in  that  vicinity,  and  thought 
perhaps,  a  small  portion — about  a  hundred  thousand — were 
nigh  about  there  somewhere.  Says  he,  "It's  a  strange  thing  yor 
don't  know ;  send  out  your  feelers."  We  sent  out  a  few  feelers 
and  they  report  back  very  promptly  that  the  Yankees  are  here 
sure  enough,  or  that  is  what  our  feelers  say.  Pass  the  word  up 
the  line.  The  word  is  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  of  Lee's 
skirmish  line  twenty-five  miles  back  to  Atlanta.  Well,  if  that 
be  the  case,  we  will  set  fire  to  all  of  our  army  stores,  spike  all  oui 
cannon,  and  play  "smash"  generally,  and  forsake  Atlanta. 

In  the  meantime,  just  hold  on  where  you  are  till  Stewart 
gets  through  his  job  of  blowing  up  arsenals,  burning  up  the  army 
stores,  and  spiking  the  cannon,  and  we  will  send  our  negro  bov 
Csesar  down  to  the  horse  lot  to  see  if  he  can't  catch  old  Nance, 
but  she  is  such  a  fool  with  that  young  suckling  colt  of  hers,  that 
it  takes  him  almost  all  day  to  catch  her,  and  if  the  draw-bar^ 
happen  to  be  down,  she'll  get  in  the  clover  patch,  and  I  don't 
think  he  will  catch  her  to-day.  But  if  he  don't  catch  her,  I'll 
ride  Balaam  anyhow.  He's  got  a  mighty  sore  back,  and  needs 
a  shoe  put  on  his  left  hind  foot,  and  he  cut  his  ankle  with  a 
broken  shoe  on  his  fore  foot,  and  has  not  been  fed  to-day 
However,  I  will  be  along  by-and-by.  Stewart,  do  you  think  you 
will  be  able  to  get  through  with  your  job  of  blowing  up  by  day 
after  to-morrow,  or  by  Saturday  at  twelve  o'clock?  Lee,  pass 
the  word  down  to  Cheatham,  and  ask  him  what  he  thinks  the 


184  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

Yankees  are  doing.     Now,  Kinlock,  get  my  duster  and  um 
brella,  and  bring  out  Balaam. 

Now,  reader,  that  was  the  impression  made  on  the  private's 
mind  at  that  time. 


CHAPTER  XIY.— JONESBORO. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  JONESBORO. 

Stewart's  corps  was  at  Atlanta,  Lee's  corps  was  between 
Atlanta  and  Jonesboro,  and  Cheatham's  corps,  then  numbering 
not  more  than  five  thousand  men — because  the  woods  and  roads 
were  full  of  straggling  soldiers,  who  were  not  in  the  fight — 
was  face  to  face  with  the  whole  Yankee  army,  and  he  was  com 
pelled  to  flee,  fight,  or  surrender.  This  was  the  position  and 
condition  of  the  grand  Army  of  Tennessee  on  this  memorable 
occasion. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  General  Cleburne  was  commanding 
Cheatham's  corps  at  that  time.  We  expected  to  be  ordered  intr 
action  every  moment,  and  kept  see-sawing  backward  and  for 
ward,  until  I  did  not  know  which  way  the  Yankees  were,  or 
which  way  the  Rebels.  We  would  form  line  of  battle,  charge 
bayonets,  and  would  raise  a  whoop  and  yell,  expecting  to  be 
dashed  right  against  the  Yankee  lines,  and  then  the  order  would 
be  given  to  retreat.  Then  we  would  immediately  re-form  and 
be  ordered  to  charge  again  a  mile  off  at  another  place.  Then  we 
would  march  and  countermarch  backward  and  forward  over  the 
same  ground,  passing  through  Jonesboro  away  over  the  hill,  and 
then  back  through  the  town,  first  four  forward  and  back;  your 


JONESBORO.  185 

right  hand  to  your  left  hand  lady,  swing  half  round  and  balance 
all.  This  sort  of  a  movement  is  called  a  "feint."  A  feint  is 
what  is  called  in  poker  a  "bluff,"  or  what  is  called  in  a  bully  ;i 
"brag."  A  feint  means  anything  but  a  fight.  If  a  lady  faints 
she  is  either  scared  or  in  love,  and  wants  to  fall  in  her  lover's 
arms.  If  an  army  makes  a  feint  movement,  it  is  trying  to  hide 
some  other  movement. 

"Hello,  Lee,  what  does  Cleburne  say  the  Yankees  are  doing 
at  Jonesboro  ?" 

"They  are  fanning  themselves." 

"Well,  keep  up  that  feint  movement  until  all  the  boys  fainl 
from  sheer  exhaustion." 

"Hello,  Stewart,  do  you  think  you  will  be  able  to  burn  up 
those  ten  locomotives,  and  destroy  those  hundred  car  loads  of 
provisions  by  day  after  to-morrow  ?" 

"Lee,  ask  Cleburne  if  he  feels  feinty  ?  Ask  him  how  a  fel 
low  feels  when  he  feints  ?" 

Cleburne  says :  "I  have  feinted,  feinted,  and  feinted,  until 
I  can't  feint  any  longer." 

"Well,"  says  Hood,  "if  you  can't  feint  any  longer,  you  had 
better  flee,  fight,  or  faint;  Balaam  gets  along  mighty  slow,  but 
I'll  be  thar  after  awhile." 

At  one  o'clock  we  were  ordered  to  the  attack.  We  had  tc 
pass  through  an  osage  orange  hedge  that  was  worse  than  the 
enemy's  fire.  Their  breastworks  were  before  us.  We  yelled, 
and  charged,  and  hurrahed,  and  said  booh !  booh !  we're  coming, 
coming,  look  out,  don't  you  see  us  coming  ?  Why  don't  you  let 
us  hear  the*  cannon's  opening  roar.  Why  don't  you  rattle  a  few 
old  muskets  over  there  at  us?  Booh!  booh!  we  are  coming. 
Tag.  We  have  done  got  to  your  breastworks.  Xow,  we  tagged 
first,  why  don't  you  tag  back  ?  A  Yankee  seems  to  be  lying  on 
the  other  side  of  the  breastworks  sunning  himself,  and  raising 
himself  on  his  elbow,  says,  "Fool  who  with  your  fatty  bread? 
W-e  are  too  o-l-d  a-birds  to  be  caught  with  that  kind  of  chaff. 
We  don't  want  any  of  that  kind  of  pie.  What  you  got  there 
wouldn't  make  a  mouthful.  Bring  on  your  pudding  and  pound 
cake,  and  then  we  will  talk  to  ye." 


186  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

General  Granberry,  who,  poor  fellow,  was  killed  in  the 
butchery  at  Franklin  afterwards,  goes  up  to  the  breastworks, 
and  says,  "Look  her,  Yank,  we're  fighting,  sure  enough." 

Meynheer  Dutchman  comes  out,  and  says,  "Ish  dot  so  ? 
Vel  I  ish  peen  von  leetle  pit  hungry  dish  morning,  und  I  yust 
gobble  you  up  for  niein  lunch  pefore  tinner  dime.  Dot  ish  der 
kind  of  mans  vot  I  bees !" 

Now,  reader,  that  is  a  fine  description  of  this  memorable 
battle.  That's  it — no  more,  no  less.  I  was  in  it  all,  and  saw 
General  Granberry  captured.  We  did  our  level  best  to  get  up 
a  fight,  but  it  was  no  go,  any  way  we  could  fix  it  up.  I  mean 
no  disrespect  to  General  Hood.  He  was  a  noble,  brave,  and 
good  man,  and  we  loved  him  for  his  many  virtues  and  goodnese 
of  heart.  I  do  not  propose  to  criticize  his  generalship  or  ability 
as  a  commander.  I  only  write  of  the  impression  and  sentiment 
that  were  made  upon  the  private's  mind  at  the  time,  and  as  I 
remember  them  now.  But  Atlanta  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  Yankees,  and  they  were  satisfied  for  the  time. 

DEATH    OF   LIEUTENANT    JOHN    WHITTAKEE. 

At  this  place  we  built  small  breastworks,  but  for  what  pur 
pose  I  never  knew.  The  Yankees  seemed  determined  not  to 
fight,  no  way  we  could  fix  it.  Every  now  and  then  they  would 
send  over  a  "feeler/'  to  see  how  we  were  getting  along.  Some 
times  these  "feelers"  would  do  some  damage.  I  remember  one 
morning  we  were  away  over  a  hill,  and  every  now  and  then  here 
would  come  one  of  those  lazy-looking  "feelers,"  just  bouncing 
along  as  if  he  were  in  no  hurry,  called  in  military. "ricochet."" 
They  were  very  easy  to  dodge,  if  you  could  see  them  in  time 
Well,  one  morning,  as  before  remarked,  Lieutenant  John  Whit- 
taker,  then  in  command  of  Company  H,  and  myself  were  sitting 
down  eating  breakfast  out  of  the  same  tin  plate.  We  were  sop 
ping  gravy  out  with  some  cold  corn  bread,  when  Captain  W.  C. 
Flournoy,  of  the  Martin  Guards,  hallooed  out,  "Look  out,  Sam : 
look!  look!"  I  just  turned  my  head,  and  in  turning,  the  can 
non  ball  knocked  my  hat  off,  and  striking  Lieutenant  Whittaker 
full  in  the  side  of  the  head,  carried  away  the  whole  of  the  skull 


JONESBORO.  187 

part,  leaving  only  the  face.  His  brains  fell  in  the  plate  from 
which  we  were  sopping,  and  his  head  fell  in  my  lap,  deluging 
my  face  and  clothes  with  his  blood.  Poor  fellow,  he  never 
knew  what  hurt  him.  His  spirit  went  to  its  God  that  morning. 
Green  Kieves  carried  the  poor  boy  off  on  his  shoulder,  and,  after 
wrapping  him  up  in  a  blanket,  buried  him.  His  bones  are  at 
Jonesboro  to-day.  The  cannon  ball  did  not  go  twenty  yard? 
after  accomplishing  its  work  of  death.  Captain  Flournoy 
]aughed  at  me,  and  said,  "Sam,  that  came  very  near  getting  you 
One-tenth  of  an  inch  more  would  have  cooked  your  goose."  I 
saw  another  man  try  to  stop  one  of  those  balls  that  was  just  roll 
ing  along  on  the  ground.  He  put  his  foot  out  to  stop  the  ball 
but  the  ball  did  not  stop,  but,  instead,  carried  the  man's  leg  off 
with  it.  He  no  doubt  to-day  walks  on  a  cork-leg,  and  is  tax 
collector  of  the  county  in  which  he  lives.  I  saw  a  thoughtless 
boy  trying  to  catch  one  in  his  hands  as  it  bounced  along.  He 
caught  it,  but  the  next -moment  his  spirit  had  gone  to  meet  its 
God.  But,  poor  John,  we  all  loved  him.  He  died  for  his  coun 
try.  His  soul  is  with  his  God.  He  gave  his  all  for  the  country 
he  loved,  and  may  he  rest  in  peace  under  the  shade  of  the  tree 
where  he  is  buried,  any  may  the  birds  sing  their  sweetest  songs, 
the  flowers  put  forth  their  most  beautiful  blooms,  while  the  gen 
tle  breezes  play  about  the  brave  boy's  grave.  Green  Rieves  was 
the  only  person  at  the  funeral ;  no  tears  of  a  loving  mother  or 
gentle  sister  were  there.  Green  interred  his  body,  and  there  it 
will  remain  till  the  resurrection.  John  Whittaker  deserves 
more  than  a  passing  notice.  He  was  noble  and  brave,  and  when 
he  was  killed,  Company  H  was  without  an  officer  then  command 
ing.  Every  single  officer  had  been  killed,  wounded,  or  cap 
tured.  John  served  as  a  private  soldier  the  first  year  of  the 
war,  and  at  the  reorganization  at  Corinth,  Mississippi,  he,  W. 
J.  Whitthorne  and  myself  all  ran  for  orderly  sergeant  of  Com 
pany  H,  and  John  was  elected,  and  the  first  vacancy  occurring 
after  the  death  of  Captain  Webster,  he  was  commissioned  brevet 
second  lieutenant.  When  the  war  broke  out,  John  was  clerking 
for  John  L.  &  T.  S.  Brandon,  in  Columbia.  He  had  been  in 
every  march,  skirmish,  and  battle  that  had  been  fought  during 


188  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  EEGIMENT. 

the  war.  Along  the  dusty  road,  on  the  march,  in  the  bivouac 
and  on  the  battlefield,  he  was  the  same  noble,  generous  boy: 
always,  kind,  ever  gentle,  a  smile  ever  lighting  up  his  counte 
nance.  He  was  one  of  the  most  even  tempered  men  I  evei 
knew.  I  never  knew  him  to  speak  an  unkind  word  to  anyone. 
or  use  a  profane  or  vulgar  word  in  my  life. 

One  of  those  ricochet  cannon  balls  struck  my  old  friend, 
X.  B.  Shepard.  Shep  was  one  of  the  bravest  and  best  soldiers 
who  ever  shouldered  a  musket.  It  is  true,  he  was  but  a  private 
soldier,  but  he  was  the  best  friend  I  had  during  the  whole  war. 
In  intellect  he  was  far  ahead  of  most  of  the  generals,  and  would 
have  honored  and  adorned  the  name  of  general  in  the  C.  S.  A 
He  was  ever  brave  and  true.  He  followed  our  cause  to  the  end 
yet  all  the  time  an  invalid.  To-day  he  is  languishing  on  a  bed 
of  pain  and  sickness,  caused  by  that  ball  at  Jonesboro.  The 
ball  struck  him  on  his  knapsack,  knocking  him  twenty  feet,  and 
breaking  one  or  two  ribs  and  dislocating  his  shoulder.  He  was 
one  of  God's  noblemen,  indeed — none  braver,  none  more  gener 
ous.  God  alone  controls  our  destinies,  and  surely  He  who 
watched  over  us  and  took  care  of  us  in  those  dark  and  bloody 
days,  will  not  forsake  us  now.  God  alone  fits  and  prepares  for 
us  the  things  that  are  in  store  for  us.  There  is  none  so  wise  as 
to  foresee  the  future  or  foretell  the  end.  God  sometimes  seems 
afar  off,  but  He  will  never  leave  or  forsake  anyone  who  puts  his 
trust  in  Him.  The  day  will  come  when  the  good  as  well  as  evil 
will  all  meet  on  one  broad  platform,  to  be  rewarded  for  the  deeds 
done  in  the  body,  when  time  shall  end,  with  the  gates  of  eternity 
closed,  and  the  key  fastened  to  the  girdle  of  God  forever.  Par 
don  me,  reader,  I  have  wandered.  But  when  my  mind  reverts 
to  those  scenes  and  times,  I  seem  to  live  in  another  age  and  time 
and  I  sometime  think  that  "after  us  comes  the  end  of  the  uni 
verse." 

I  am  not  trying  to  moralize,  I  am  only  trying  to  write  a 
few  scenes  and  incidents  that  came  under  the  observation  of  a 
poor  old  Rebel  web-foot  private  soldier  in  those  stormy  days  and 
times.  Histories  tell  the  great  facts,  while  I  only  tell  of  the 
minor  incidents. 


JONESBORO.  189 

But  on  this  day  of  which  I  now  write,  we  can  see  in  plain 
view  more  than  a  thousand  Yankee  battle-flags  waving  on  top 
the  red  earthworks,  not  more  than  four  hundred  yards  off. 
Every  private  soldier  there  knew  that  General  Hood's  army 
was  scattered  all  the  way  from  Jonesboro  to  Atlanta,  a  distance 
of  twenty-five  miles,  without  any  order,  discipline,  or  spirit  to 
do  anything.  We  could  hear  General  Stewart,  away  back  yon 
der  in  Atlanta,  still  blowing  up  arsenals,  and  smashing  things 
generally,  while  Stephen  D.  Lee  was  somewhere  between  Love- 
joy  Station  and  Macon,  scattering.  And  here  was  but  a  de 
moralized  remnant  of  Cheatham's  corps  facing  the  whole  Yan 
kee  army.  I  have  ever  thought  that  Sherman  was  a  poor 
general,  not  to  have  captured  Hood  and  his  whole  army  at  that 
time.  But  it  matters  not  what  I  thought,  as  I  am  not  trying 
to  tell  the  ifs  and  ands,  but  only  of  what  I  saw.  In  a  word,  we 
had  everything  against  us.  The  soldiers  distrusted  everything. 
They  were  broken  down  with  their  long  days7  hard  marching — 
were  almost  dead  with  hunger  and  fatigue.  Every  one  was  tak 
ing  his  own  course,  and  wishing  and  praying  to  be  captured. 
Hard  and  senseless  marching,  with  little  sleep,  half  rations,  and 
lice,  had  made  their  lives  a  misery.  Each  one  prayed  that  all 
this  foolishness  might  end  one  way  or  the  other.  It  was  too 
much  for  human  endurance.  Every  private  soldier  knew  that 
such  things  as  this  could  not  last.  They  were  willing  to  ring- 
down  the  curtain,  put  out  the  foot-lights  and  go  home.  There 
was  no  hope  in  the  future  for  them. 

THEN   COMES   THE   FAECE. 

From  this  time  forward  until  the  close  of  the  war,  every 
thing  was  a  farce  as  to  generalship.  The  tragedy  had  been 
played,  the  glory  of  war  had  departed.  We  all  loved  Hood ;  he 
was  such  a  clever  fellow,  and  a  good  man. 

Well,  Yank,  why  don't  you  come  on  and  take  us  ?  We  are 
ready  to  play  quits  nowr.  We  have  not  anything  to  let  you  have, 
you  know ;  but  you  can  parole  us,  you  know ;  and  we'll  go  home 
and  be  good  boys,  you  knowr — good  Union  boys,  you  know ;  and 
we'll  be  sorry  for  the  war,  you  know ;  and  we  wouldn't  have  the 


190  CO.    H.,    FIKST   TENNESSEE    EEGIMENT. 

negroes  in  any  way,  shape,  form,  or  fashion,  you  know ;  and  the 
American  continent  has  no  north,  no  south,  no  east,  no  west — • 
boohoo,  boohoo,  boohoo. 

Tut,  tut,  Johnny";  all  that  sounds  tolerable  nice,  but  then 
you  might  want  some  favor  from  Uncle  Sam,  and  the  teat  is  too 
full  of  milk  at  the  present  time  for  us  to  turn  loose.  It's  a 
sugar  teat,  Johnny,  and  just  begins  to  taste  sweet ;  and,  besides, 
Johnny,  once  or  twice  you  have  put  us  to  a  little  trouble;  we 
haven't  forgot  that ;  and  we've  got  you  down  now — our  foot  is 
on  your  neck,  and  you  must  feel  our  boot  heel.  We  want  to 
stamp  you  a  little — "that's  what's  the  matter  with  Hannah."1 
And,  Johnny,  you've  fought  us  hard.  You  are  a  brave  boy; 
you  are  proud  and  aristocratic,  Johnny,  and  we  are  going  to 
crush  your  cursed  pride  and  spirit.  And  now,  Johnny,  come 
here;  I've  something  to  whisper  in  your  ear.  Hold  your  ear 
close  down  here,  so  that  no  one  can  hear :  "We  want  big  fat 
offices  when  the  war  is  over.  Some  of  us  want  to  be  presidents, 
some  governors,  some  go  to  congress,,  and  be  big  ministers  to 
'Urup,'  and  all  those  kind  of  things,  Johnny,  you  know.  Just 
go  back  to  your  camp,  Johnny,  chase  round,  put  on  a  bold  front, 
flourish  your  trumpets,  blow  your  horns.  And,  Johnny,  we 
don't  want  to  be  hard  on  you,  and  we'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do 
for  you.  Away  back  in  your  territory,  between  Columbia  and 
Nashville,  is  the  most  beautiful  country,  and  the  most  fertile, 
and  we  have  lots  of  lations  up  there,  too.  Now,  you  just  go  up 
there,  Johnny,  and  stay  until  wo  want  you.  We  ain't  done 
with  you  yet,  my  boy — O,  no,  Johnny.  And,  another  thing, 
Johnny ;  you  will  find  there  between  Mt.  Pleasant  and  Colum 
bia,  the  most  beautiful  country  that  the  sun  of  heaven  ever 
shone  upon ;  and  half  way  between  the  two  places  is  St.  John's 
Church.  Its  tower  is  all  covered  over  with  a  beautiful  vine  of 
ivy;  and,  Johnny,  you  know  that  in  olden  times  it  was  the'Cus- 
tom  to  entwine  a  wreath  of  ivy  around  the  brows  of  victorious 
generals.  We  have  no  doubt  that  many  of  your  brave  generals 
will  express  a  wish,  when  they  pass  by,  to  be  buried  beneath  the 
ivy  vine  that  shades  so  gracefully  and  beautifully  the  wall  of  this 
grand  old  church.  And,  Johnny,  you  will  find  a  land  of  beauty 


JONESBORO.  191 

and  plenty,  and  when  you  get  there,  just  put  on  as  much  style 
as  you  like ;  just  pretend,  for  our  sake,  you  know,  that  you  are 
a  bully  boy  with  a  glass  eye,  and  that  you  are  the  victorious  army 
that  has  returned  to  free  an  oppressed  people.  We  will  allow 
you  this,  Johnny,  so  that  we  will  be  the  greater  when  we  want 
you,  Johnny.  And  now,  Johnny,  we  did  not  want  to  tell  you 
what  we  are  going  to  say  to  you  now,  but  will,  so  that  you'll  feel 
bad.  Sherman  wants  to  'march  to  the  sea,  while  the  world 
looks  on  and  wonders.'  He  wants  to  desolate  the  land  and  burn 
up  your  towns,  to  show  what  a  coward  he  is,  and  how  dastardly, 
and  one  of  our  boys  wants  to  write  a  piece  of  poetry  about  it. 
But  that  ain't  all,  Johnny.  You  know  that  you  fellows  have 
got  a  great  deal  of  cotton  at  Augusta,  Savannah,  Charleston, 
Mobile,  and  other  places,  and  cotton  is  worth  two  dollars  a 
pound  in  gold,  and  as  Christmas  is  coming,  we  want  to  go  down 
there  for  some  of  that  cotton  to  make  a  Christmas  gift  to  old 
Abe  and  old  Clo,  don't  you  see  ?  O,  no,  Johnny,  we  don't  want 
to  end  the  war  just  yet  a\vhile.  The  sugar  is  mighty  sweet  in 
the  teat,  and  we  want  to  suck  a  while  longer.  Why,  sir,  we  want 
to  rob  and  then  burn  every  house  in  Georgia  and  South  Caro 
lina.  We  will  get  millions  of  dollars  by  robbery  alone,  don't 
you  see  ?" 

PALMETTO. 

"Hark  from  the  tomb  that  doleful   sound, 
My  ears  attend  the  cry." 

General  J.  B.  Hood  established  his  headquarters  at  Pal 
metto,  Georgia,  and  here  is  where  we  were  visited  by  his  honor, 
the  Honorable  Jefferson  Davis,  President  of  the  Confederate 
States  of  America,  and  the  Right  Honorable  Robert  Toombs, 
secretary  of  state  under  the  said  Davis.  Nowa  kind  reader, 
don't  ask  me  to  write  history.  I  know  nothing  of  history.  See 
the  histories  for  grand  movements  and  military  maneuvers.  I 
can  only  tell  of  what  I  saw  and  how  I  felt.  I  can  remember 
now  General  Robert  Toombs'  and  Hon.  Jeff  Davis'  speeches. 
I  remember  how  funny  Toombs'  speech  was.  He  kept  us  all 
laughing,  by  telling  us  how  quick  we  were  going  to  whip  the 


192  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  KEGIMENT. 

Yankees,  and  how  they  would  skedaddle  back  across  the  Ohio 
river  like  a  dog  with  a  tin  oyster  can  tied  to  his  tail.  Captain 
Joe  P.  Lee  and  I  laughed  until  our  sides  hurt  us.  I  can  remem- 
her  to-day  how  I  felt.  I  felt  that  Davis  and  Toombs  had  come 
there  to  bring  us  glad  tidings  of  great  joy,  and  to  proclaim  to  us 
that  the  ratification  of  a  treaty  of  peace  had  been  declared  be 
tween  the  Confederate  States  of  America  and  the  United  States. 
I  remember  how  good  and  happy  I  felt  when  these  two  leading 
statesmen  told  of  when  grim  visaged  war  would  smooth  her 
wrinkled  front,  and  when  the  dark  clouds  that  had  so  long  low 
ered  o'er  our  own  loved  South  would  be  in  the  deep  bosom  of  the 
ocean  buried.  I  do  not  know  how  others  felt,  but  I  can  say 
never  before  or  since  did  I  feel  so  grand.  (I  came  very  near 
saying  gloomy  and  peculiar).  I  felt  that  I  and  every  other 
soldier  who  had  stood  the  storms  of  battle  for  nearly  four  long 
years,  were  now  about  to  be  discharged  from  hard  marches,  and 
scant  rations,  and  ragged  clothes,  and  standing  guard,  etc.  In 
fact,  the  black  cloud  of  war  had  indeed  drifted  away,  and  the 
beautiful  stars  that  gemmed  the  blue  ether  above,  smiling,  said, 
"Peace,  peace,  peace. "  I  felt  bully,  I  tell  you.  I  remember 
what  I  thought — that  the  emblem  of  our  cause  was  the  Pal 
metto  and  the  Texas  Star,  and  the  town  of  Palmetto,  were  sym 
bolical  of  our  ultimate  triumph,  and  that  we  had  unconsciously, 
nay,  I  should  say,  prophetically,  fallen  upon  Palmetto  as  the 
most  appropriate  place  to  declare  peace  between  the  two  sec 
tions.  I  was  sure  Jeff  Davis  and  Bob  Toombs  had  come  there 
for  the  purpose  of  receiving  the  capitulation  of  and  to  make 
terms  with  our  conquered  foes.  I  knew  that  in  every  battle  we 
had  fought,  except  Missionary  Ridge,  we  had  whipped  the  Yan 
kees,  and  I  knew  that  we  had  no  cavalry,  and  but  little  artillery, 
and  only  two  corps  of  infantry  at  Missionary  Ridge,  and  from 
the  way  Jeff  and  Bob  talked,  it  was  enough  to  make  us  old  pri 
vate  soldiers  feel  that  swelling  of  the  heart  we  ne'er  should  feel 
again.  I  remember  that  other  high  dignitaries  and  big  bugs, 
then  the  controlling  spirits  of  the  government  at  Richmond, 
visited  us,  and  most  all  of  these  high  dignitaries  shook  hands 
with  the  boys.  It  was  all  hands  round,  swing  the  corner,  and 


JONESBORO.  193 

balance  your  partner.  I  shook  hands  with  Hon.  Jeff  Davis, 
and  he  said  howdy,  captain;  I  shook  hands  with  Toombs,  and  he 
said  howdy,  major ;  and  every  big  bug  that  I  shook  hands  with 
put  another  star  on  my  collar  and  chicken  guts  on  my  sleeve. 
My  pen  is  inadequate  to  describe  the  ecstasy  and  patriotic  feel 
ing  that  permeated  every  vein  and  fiber  of  my  animated  being. 
It  was  Paradise  regained.  All  the  long  struggles  we  had  fol 
lowed  the  Palmetto  flag-  through  victory  and  defeat,  through 
storms  and  rains,  and  snows  and  tempest,  along  the  dusty  roads, 
and  on  the  weary  marches,  we  had  been  true  to  our  country,  our 
cause,  and  our  people ;  and  there  was  a  conscious  pride  within 
us  that  wrhen  W7e  would  return  to  our  homes,  we  would  go  back 
as  conquerors,  and  that  we  wTould  receive  the  plaudits  of  our 
people — well  done,  good  and  faithful  servants;  you  have  been 
True  and  faithful  even  to  the  end. 

JEFF  DAVIS  MAKES  A  SPEECH. 

"Sinner    come    view  the  ground 
Where  you  shall  shortly  lie." 

I  remember  that  Hon.  Jeff  Davis  visited  the  army  at  this 
place,  and  our  regiment,  the  First  Tennessee,  serenaded  him. 
After  playing  several  airs,  he  came  out  of  General  Hood's 
marquee,  and  spoke  substantially  as  follows,  as  near  as  I  can 
remember : 

'^SOLDIERS  OF  THE  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT  : — I 
should  have  said  captains,  for  every  man  among  you  is  fit  to  be 
a  captain.  I  have  heard  of  your  acts  of  bravery  on  every  battle 
field  during  the  whole  war,  and  'captains,'  so  far  as  my  wishes 
are  concerned,  I  to-day  make  every  man  of  you  a  captain,  and  I 
say  honestly  to-day,  were  I  a  private  soldier,  I  would  have  nu 
higher  abmition  on  earth  than  to  belong  to  the  First  Tennessee 
Regiment.  You  have  been  loyal  and  brave;  your  ranks  have 
never  yet,  in  the  whole  history  of  the  war,  been  broken,  even 
though  the  army  was  routed ;  yet,  my  brave  soldiers,  Tennessee- 
ans  all,  you  have  ever  remained  in  your  places  in  the  ranks  of  the 
regiment,  ever  subject  to  the  command  of  your  gallant  Colonel 
Field  in  every  battle,  march,  skirmish,  in  an  advance  or  a  re- 


194  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

treat.  There  are  on  the  books  of  the  war  department  at  Rich 
mond,  the  names  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  deserters,  yet,  yon, 
my  brave  soldiers,  captains  all,  have  remained  true  and  stead 
fast.  I  have  heard  that  some  have  been  dissatisfied  with  the 
removal  of  General  Joe  E.  Johnston  and  the  appointment  of 
General  Hood ;  but,  my  brave  and  gallant  heroes,  I  say,  I  have 
done  what  I  thought  best  for  your  good.  Soon  we  commence 
our  march  to  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  Be  of  good  cheer,  for 
within  a  short  while  your  faces  will  be  turned  homeward,  and 
your  feet  will  press  Tennessee  soil,  and  you  will  tread  your 
native  heath,  amid  the  blue-grass  regions  and  pastures  green  of 
your  native  homes.  We  will  flank  General  Sherman  out  of 
Atlanta,  tear  up  the  railroad  and  cut  off  his  supplies,  and  make 
Atlanta  a  perfect  Moscow  of  defeat  to  the  Federal  army.  Sit 
uated  as  he  is  in  an  enemy's  country,  with  his  communication? 
all  cut  off,  and  our  army  in  the  rear,  he  will  be  powerless,  and 
being  fully  posted  and  cognizant  of  our  position,  and  of  the 
Federal  army,  this  movement  will  be  the  ultima  thule,  the  grand 
crowning  stroke  for  our  independence,  and  the  conclusion  of 
the  Avar." 

ARMISTICE  IN  NAME  ONLY. 

About  this  time  the  Yankees  sent  us  a  flag  of  truce,  asking 
an  armistice  to  move  every  citizen  of  Atlanta  south  of  their 
lines.  It  was  granted.  They  wanted  to  live  in  fine  houses 
awhile,  and  then  rob  and  burn  them,  and  issued  orders  for  all 
the  citizens  of  Atlanta  to  immediately  abandon  the  city.  They 
wanted  Atlanta  for  themselves,  you  see. 

For  weeks  and  months  the  roads  were  filled  with  loaded 
wagons  of  old  and  decrepit  people,  who  had  been  hunted  and 
hounded  from  their  homes  with  a  relentless  cruelty  worse,  yea, 
much  worse,  than  ever  blackened  the  pages  of  barbaric  or  sav 
age  history.  I  remember  assisting  in  unloading  our  wagons 
that  General  Hood,  poor  fellow,  had  kindly  sent  in  to  bring  out 
the  citizens  of  Atlanta  to  a  little  place  called  Rough-and-Ready, 
about  half  way  between  Palmetto  and  Atlanta.  Every  day  T 
would  look  on  at  the  suffering  of  delicate  ladies,  old  men,  and 


JONESBORO.  195 

mothers  with  little  children  clinging  to  them,  crying,  "O, 
mamma,  mamma,"  and  old  women,  and  tottering  old  men,  whose 
gray  hairs  should  have  protected  them  from  the  savage  acts  of 
Yankee  hate  and  Puritan  barbarity;  and  I  wondered  how  on 
earth  our  generals,  including  those  who  had  resigned — that  is 
where  the  shoe  pinches — could  quietly  look  on  at  this  dark, 
black,  and  damning  insult  to  our  people,  and  not  use  at  least 
one  effort  to  rescue  them  from  such  terrible  and  unmitigated 
cruelty,  barbarity,  and  outrage.  General  Hood  remonstrated 
with  Sherman  against  the  insult,  stating  that  it  "transcended 
in  studied  and  ingenious  cruelty,  all  acts  ever  before  brought 
to  my  attention  in  the  dark  history  of  war." 

In  the  great  crisis  of  the  war,  Hardee,  Kirby  Smith,  Breck- 
inridge,  and  many  brigadiers,  resigned,  thus  throwing  all  the 
responsibility  upon  poor  Hood.* 

I  desire  to  state  that  they  left  the  army  on  account  of  rank. 
O,  this  thing  of  rank ! 

Many  other  generals  resigned,  and  left  us  privates  in  the 
lurch.  But  the  gallant  Cheatham,  Cleburne,  Granberry,  Gist. 
S trahl,  Adams,  John  C.  Brown,  William  B.  Bate,  Stewart, 
Lowery,  and  others,  stuck  to  us  to  the  last. 

The  sinews  of  war  were  strained  to  their  utmost  tension. 

A  SCOUT. 

At  this  place  I  was  detailed  as  a  regular  scout,  which  posi 
tion  I  continued  to  hold  during  our  stay  at  Palmetto.  It  was  a 
good  thing.  It  beat  camp  guard  all  hollow.  I  had  answered 
"hear"  at  roll-call  ten  thousand  times  in  these  nearly  four  years. 
But  I  had  sorter  got  used  to  the  darn  thing. 

Now,  reader,  I  will  give  you  a  few  chapters  on  the  kind  of 
fun  I  had  for  awhile.  Our  instructions  were  simply  to  try  and 
find  out  all  we  could  about  the  Yankees,  and  report  all  move 
ments. 

One  dark,  rainy  evening,  while  out  as  a  scout,  and,  after 

*In  the  Southern  army  the  question  was,  who  ranked?  Not  who  was  the 
best  general,  or  colonel,  or  captain— Ivit  "who  ranked?"  The  article  of  rank 
finally  got  down  to  corporals;  and  rank  finally  bursted  the  government. 


196  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

traveling  all  day.,  I  was  returning  from  the  Yankee  outposts  at 
Atlanta,  and  had  captured  a  Yankee  prisoner,  who  I  then  had 
under  my  charge,  and  wThom  I  afterwards  carried  and  delivered 
to  General  Hood.  He  was  a  considerable  muggins,  and  a  great 
coward,  in  fact,  a  Yankee  deserter.  I  soon  found  out  that 
there  was  no  harm  in  him,  as  he  was  tired  of  war  anyhow,  and 
wras  anxious  to  go  to  prison.  We  went  into  an  old  log  cabin 
near  the  road  until  the  rain  would  be  over.  I  was  standing  in 
the  cabin  door  looking  at  the  rain  drops  fall  off  the  house  and 
make  little  bubbles  in  the  drip,  and  listening  to  the  pattering  on 
the  clapboard  roof,  when  happening  to  look  up,  not  fifty  yards 
off,  I  discovered  a  regiment  of  Yankee  cavalry  approaching.  I 
knew  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  get  away  unseen, 
and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  The  Yankee  prisoner  was 
scared  almost  to  death.  I  said,  "Look,  look !"  I  turned  in  the 
room,  and  found  the  planks  of  the  floor  were  loose.  I  raised 
tAvo  of  them,  and  Yank  and  I  slipped  through.  I  replaced  the 
planks,  and  could  peep  out  beneath  the  sill  of  the  house,  and  see 
the  legs  of  the  horses.  They  passed  on  and  did  not  come  to  the 
old  house.  They  were  at  least  a  half  hour  in  passing.  At  last 
the  main  regiment  had  all  passed,  and  I  saw  the  rear  guard 
about  to  pass,  when  I  heard  the  captain  say,  "Go  and  look  in 
that  old  house."  Three  fellows  detached  themselves  from  the 
command  and  came  dashing  up  to  the  old  house.  I  thought, 
"Gone  up,  sure,"  as  I  was  afraid  the  Yankee  prisoner  would 
make  his  presence  known.  When  the  three  men  came  up,  they 
pushed  open  the  door  and  looked  around,  and  one  fellow  said 
"Booh  !"  They  then  rode  off.  But  that  "Booh !"  I  was  sure 
I  was  caught,  but  I  was  not. 

"WHAT  is  THIS  REBEL  DOING  HERE  ?" 

I  would  go  up  to  the  Yankee  outpost,  and  if  some  popinjay 
of  a  tacky  officer  didn't  come  along,  we  would  have  a  good  time. 
One  morning  I  was  sitting  down  to  eat  a  good  breakfast  with 
the  Yankee  outpost.  They  were  cavalry,  and  they  were  mighty 
clever  and  pleasant  fellows.  I  looked  down  the  road  toward 
Atlanta,  and  not  fifty  yards  from  the  outpost,  I  saw  a  body  of 


JONESBORO.  197 

infantry  approaching.  I  don't  know  why  I  didn't  run.  I 
ought  to  have  done  so,  but  didn't.  I  staid  there  until  this  body 
of  infantry  came  up.  They  had  come  to  relieve  the  cavalry. 
It  was  a  detail  of  negro  soldiers,  headed  by  the  meanest  looking 
white  man  as  their  captain,  I  ever  saw. 

In  very  abrupt  words  he  told  the  cavalry  that  he  had  come 
to  take  their  place,  and  they  were  ordered  to  report  back  to  their 
command.  Happening  to  catch  sight  of  me,  he  asked,  aWhat 
is  this  Rebel  doing  here  ?"  One  of  the  men  spoke  up  and  tried 
to  say  something  in  my  favor,  but  the  more  he  said  the  more  the 
captain  of  the  blacks  would  get  mad.  He  started  toward  me  two 
or  three  times.  He  was  starting,  I  could  see  by  the  flush  of  his 
face,  to  take  hold  of  me,  anyhow.  The  cavalrymen  tried  to 
protest,  and  said  a  few  cuss  words.  The  captain  of  the  blacks 
looks  back  very  mad  at  the  cavalry.  Here  was  my  opportunity, 
now  or  never.  Uncle  negro  looked  on,  not  seeming  to  care  for 
the  cavalry,  captain,  or  for  me.  I  took  up  my  gun  very  gently 
and  cocked  it.  I  had  the  gentleman.  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
if  he  advanced  one  step  further,  that  he  was  a  dead  man. 
When  he  turned  to  look  again,  it  was  a  look  of  surprise.  His 
face  was  as  red  as  a  scalded  beet,  but  in  a  moment  was  as  white 
as  a  sheet.  He  wras  afraid  to  turn  his  head  to  give  a  command. 
The  cavalry  motioned  their  hands  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"Run,  Johnny,  run."  The  captain  of  the  blacks  fell  upon  his 
face,  and  I  broke  and  ran  like  a  quarter-horse.  I  never  saw  or 
heard  any  more  of  the  captain  of  the  blacks  or  his  guard  after 
ward. 

"LOOK  OUT,  BOYS/'' 

One  night,  five  of  us  scouts,  I  thought  all  strangers  to  me, 
put  up  at  an  old  gentleman's  house.  I  took  him  for  a  Catholic 
priest.  His  head  was  shaved  and  he  had  on  a  loose  gown  like  a 
lady's  dress,  and  a  large  cord  and  tassel  tied  around  his  waist, 
from  which  dangled  a  large  bunch  of  keys.  He  treated  us  very 
kindly  and  hospitably,  so  far  as  words  and  politeness  went,  but 
we  had  to  eat  our  own  rations  and  sleep  on  our  own  blankets. 

At  bedtime,  he  invited  us  to  sleep  in  a  shed  in  front  of  his 


198  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

double  log  cabin.  We  all  went  in,  lay  down,  and  slept.  A  lit 
tle  while  before  day,  the  old  priest  came  in  and  woke  us  up,  and 
said  he  thought  he  saw  in  the  moonlight  a  detachment  of  cavalry 
coining  down  the  road  from  toward  the  Rebel  lines.  One  of  our 
party  jumped  up  and  said  there  was  a  company  of  cavalry  coin 
ing  that  way,  and  then  all  four  broke  toward  the  old  priest's 
room.  I  jumped  up,  put  on  one  boot,  and  holding  the  other  in 
my  hand,  I  stepped  out  in  the  yard,  with  my  hat  and  coat  off— 
both  being  left  in  the  room.  A  Yankee  captain  stepped  up  to 
me  and  said,  "Are  you  No.  200  ?"  I  answered  very  huskily. 
"No,  sir,  I  am  not."  He  then  went  on  in  the  house,  and  on 
looking  at  the  fence,  I  saw  there  was  at  least  two  hundred  Yan 
kee  cavalry  right  at  me.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  My  hat, 
coat,  gun,  cartridge-box,  and  knapsack  were  all  in  the  room.  I 
was  afraid  to  stay  there,  and  I  was  afraid  to  give  the  alarm.  I 
soon  saw  almost  every  one  of  the  Yankees  dismount,  and  then  I 
determined  to  give  the  alarm  and  run.  I  hallooed  out  as  loud 
as  I  could,  "Look  out,  boys,"  and  broke  and  run.  I  had  to  jump 
over  a  garden  picket  fence,  and  as  I  lit  on  the  other  side,  bang ! 
bang!  bang!  was  fired  right  after  me.  They  stayed  there  but 
a  short  time,  and  I  went  back  and  got  my  gun  and  other  accou- 
terments. 

AM   CAPTURED. 

When  I  left  the  old  priest's  house,  it  was  then  good  day — 
nearly  sun  up — and  I  had  started  back  toward  our  lines,  and 
had  walked  on  about  half  a  mile,  not  thinking  of  danger,  when 
four  Yankees  jumped  out  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  said. 
"Halt,  there !  O,  yes,  we've  got  you  at  last."  I  was  in  for  it. 
What  could  I  do  ?  Their  guns  were  cocked  and  leveled  at  me. 
and  if  I  started  to  run,  I  would  be  shot,  so  I  surrendered.  In 
a  very  short  time  the  regiment  of  Yankee  cavalry  came  up,  and 
the  first  greeting  I  had  was,  "Hello,  you  ain't  No.  200,  are  you  ?" 
I  was  taken  prisoner.  They,  I  thought,  seemed  to  be  very 
gleeful  about  it,  and  I  had  to  march  right  back  by  the  old  priest'- 
house,  and  they  carried  me  to  the  headquarters  of  General  Ste 
phen  Williams.  As  soon  as  he  saw  me,  he  said,  "WTho  have  yon 


JONESBORO.  199 

there — a  prisoner,  or  a  deserter  ?"  They  said  a  prisoner.  From 
what  command  ?  No  one  answered.  Finally  he  asked  me  what 
command  I  belonged  to.  I  told  him  the  Confederate'  States 
army.  Then,  said  he,  "What  is  your  name  ?"  Said  I,  "Gen 
eral,  if  that  would  be  any  information,  I  would  have  no  hesi 
tancy  in  giving  it.  But  I  claim  your  protection  as  a  prisoner 
of  war.  I  am  a  private  soldier  in  the  Confederate  States  army, 
and  I  don't  feel  authorized  to  answer  any  question  you  may 
ask/'  He  looked  at  me  with  a  kind  of  quizical  look,  and  said. 
"That  is  the  way  with  you  Rebels.  I  have  never  yet  seen  one  of 
you,  but  thought  what  little  information  he  might  possess  to  be 
of  value  to  the  Union  forces.''  Then  one  of  the  men  spoke  up 
and  said,  "I  think  he  is  a  spy  or  a  scout,  and  does  not  belong  to 
the  regular  army."  He  then  gave  me  a  close  look,  and  said, 
"Ah,  ah,  a  guerrilla,"  and  ordered  me  to  be  taken  to  the  provost 
marshal's  office.  They  carried  me  to  a  large,  fine  house,  up 
stairs,  and  I  was  politely  requested  to  take  a  seat.  I  sat  there 
some  moments,  when  a  dandy-looking  clerk  of  a  fellow  came  up 
with  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  said,  "The  name."  I  appeared 
not  to,  understand,  and  he  said,  "The  name."  I  still  looked  at 
him,  and  he  said,  "The  name."  I  did  not  know  what  he  meant 
by  "The  name."  Finally,  he  closed  the  book  with  a  slam  and 
started  off,  and  said  I,  "Did  you  want  to  find  out  my  name  ?" 
He  said,  "I  asked  you  three  times."  I  said,  "When  ?  If  you 
ever  asked  me  my  name,  I  have  never  heard  it.:'  But  he  was 
too  mad  to  listen  to  anything  else.  I  was  carried  to  another 
room  in  the  same  building,  and  locked  up.  I  remained  there 
until  about  dark,  when  a  man  brought  me  a  tolerably  good  sup 
per,  and  then  left  me  alone  to  my  own  meditations.  I  could 
hear  the  sentinels  at  all  times  of  the  night  calling  out  the  hours. 
I  did  not  sleep  a  wink,  nor  even  lay  down.  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  escape,  if  there  was  any  possible  chance.  About  three 
o'clock  everything  got  perfectly  still.  I  went  to  the  window, 
and  it  had  a  heavy  bolt  across  it,  and  I  could  not  open  it.  I 
thought  I  would  try  the  door,  but  I  knew  that  a  guard  was  sta 
tioned  in  the  hall,  for  I  could  see  a  dim  light  glimmer  through 
the  key-hole.  I  took  my  knife  and  unscrewed  the  catch  in 


200  CO.  H.,  FIKST  TENNESSEE  EEGIMENT. 

which  the  lock  was  fastened,  and  soon  found  out  that  I  could 
open  the  door ;  but  then  there  was  the  guard,  standing  at  the 
main  entrance  down  stairs.  I  peeped  down,  and  he  was  quietly 
walking  to  and  fro  on  his  beat,  every  time  looking  to  the  hall. 
I  made  up  my  mind  by  his  measured  tread  as  to  how  often  he 
would  pass  the  door,  and  one  time,  after  he  had  just  passed,  I 
came  out  in  the  hall,  and  started  to  run  down  the  steps.  About 
midway  down  the. steps,  one  of  them  cracked  very  loud,  but  I 
ran  on  down  in  the  lower  hall  and  ran  into  a  room,  the  door  of 
which  w^as  open.  The  sentinel  came  back  to  the  entrance  of  the 
hall,  and  listened  a  few  minutes,  and  then  moved  on  again.  I 
went  to  the  window  and  raised  the  sash,  but  the  blind  was  fast 
ened  with  a  kind  of  patent  catch.  I  gave  one  or  two  hard 
pushes,  and  felt  it  move.  After  that  I  made  one  big  lunge,  and 
it  flewr  wide  open,  but  it  made  a  noise  that  woke  up  every  senti 
nel.  I  jumped  out  in  the  yard,  and  gained  the  street,  and,  on 
looking  back,  I  heard  the  alarm  given,  and  lights  began  to  glim 
mer  everywhere,  but,  seeing  no  one  directly  after  me,  I  made 
tracks  toward  Peachtree  creek,  and  went  on  until  I  came  to  the 
old  battlefield  of  July  22nd,  and  made  my  way  back  to  our  lines. 


ADVANCE    INTO   TENNESSEE.  201 


CHAPTER  XV.— ADVANCE  INTO  TENNESSEE. 

GENERAL    HOOT)   MAKES    A    FLANK    MOVEMENT. 

After  remaining  a  good  long  time  at  Jonesboro,  the  news 
came  that  we  were  going  to  flank  Atlanta.  We  flanked  it.  A 
flank  means  "a  go  around/7 

Yank  says,  "What  you  doing,  Johnny  ?" 

Johnny  says,  "We  are  flanking." 

Yank  says,  "Bully  for  you !" 

We  passed  around  Atlanta,  crossed  the  Chattahoochee,  and 
traveled  back  over  the  same  route  on  which  we  had  made  the 
arduous  campaign  under  Joe  Johnston.  It  took  us  four  months 
in  the  first  instance,  and  but  little  longer  than  as  many  days  in 
the  second,  to  get  back  to  Dalton,  our  starting  point.  On  our 
way  up  there,  the  Yankee  cavalry  followed  us  to  see  how  we 
were  getting  along  with  the  flanking  business.  We  had  pon 
toons  made  for  the  purpose  of  crossing  streams.  When  we  would 
get  to  a  stream,  the  pontoons  would  be  thrown  across,  and 
Hood's  army  would  cross.  Yank  would  halloo  over  and  say, 
"Well,  Johnny,  have  you  got  everything  across  ?"  "Yes,"  would 
be  the  answer.  "Well,  we  want  these  old  pontoons,  as  you  will 
not  need  them  again."  And  they  would  take  them. 

We  passed  all  those  glorious  battlefields,  that  have  been 
made  classic  in  history,  frequently  coming  across  the  skull  of 
some  poor  fellow  sitting  on  top  of  a  stump,  grinning  a  ghastly 
smile ;  also  the  bones  of  horses  along  the  road,  and  fences  burned 
and  destroyed,  and  occasionally  the  charred  remains  of  a  once 
fine  dwelling  house.  Outside  of  these  occasional  reminders  we 
could  see  no  evidence  of  the  desolation  of  the  track  of  an  invad 
ing  army.  The  country  looked  like  it  did  at  first.  Citizens 
came  out,  and  seemed  glad  to  see  us,  and  would  divide  their 
onions,  garlic,  and  leek  with  us.  The  soldiers  were  in  good 
spirits,  but  it  was  the  spirit  of  innocence  and  peace,  not  war  and 
victory. 


202 


CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 


Where  the  railroads  would  cross  a  river,  a  block-house  had 
been  erected,  and  the  bridge  was  guarded  by  a  company  of  Fed 
erals.  But  we  always  flanked  these  little  affairs.  We  wanted 
bigger  and  better  meat. 

WE   CAPTURE   DALTON. 

When  we  arrived  at  Dalton,  we  had  a  desire  to  see  how  the 
old  place  looked ;  not  that  we  cared  anything  about  it,  but  we 
just  wanted  to  take  a  last  farewell  look  at  the  old  place.  We 
saw  the  United  States  flag  flying  from  the  ramparts,  and  thought 
that  Yank  would  probably  be  asleep  or  catching  lice,  or  may  be  - 
engaged  in  a  game  of  seven-up.  So  we  sent  forward  a  physi 
cian  with  some  white  bandages  tied  to  the  end  of  a.  long  pole. 
He  walked  up  and  says,  "Hello,  boys !"  "What  is  it,  boss  ?" 
"Well,  boys,  we've  com©  for  you."  "Hyah,  ha;  hyah,  ha  ;  hyah, 
ha;  a  hee,  he,  he,  he;  if  it  ain't  old  master,  sho."  The  place 
was  guarded  by  negro  troops.  We  marched  the  black  rascals 
out.  They  \vere  mighty  glad  to  see  us,  and  we  were  kindly  dis 
posed  to  them.  We  said,  "Now,  boys,  we  don't  want  the  Yan 
kees  to  get  mad  at  you,  and  to  blame  you ;  so,  just  let's  get  out 
here  on  the  railroad  track,  and  tear  it  up,  and  pile  up  the  cross- 
ties,  and  then  pile  the  iron  on  top  of  them,  and  we'll  set  the  thing 
a-fire,  and  when  the  Yankees  come  back  they  will  say,  'What  a 
bully  fight  them  nagers  did  make.'  '  (A  Yankee  always  says 
"nager").  Reader,  you  should  have  seen  how  that  old  railroad 
did  flop  over,  and  how  the  darkies  did  s\veat,  and  how  the  per 
fume  did  fill  the  atmosphere. 

But  there  were  some  Yankee  soldiers  in  a  block-house  at 
Ringgold  Gap,  who  thought  they  would  act  big.  They  said 
that  Sherman  had  told  them  not  to  come  out  of  that  block-house, 
any  how.  But  General  William  B.  Bate  begun  to  persuade  the 
gentlemen,  by  sending  a  few  four-pound  parrot  "feelers."  Ah ! 
those  feelers! 

They  persuaded  eloquently.  They  persuaded  effectually— 
those  feelers  did.  The  Yanks  soon  surrendered.  The  old  place 
looked  natural  like,  only  it  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  grave-yard 
loneliness  about  it. 


ADVANCE   INTO   TENNESSEE.  203 

A  MAN  IN  THE  WELL. 

On  leaving  Dalton,  after  a  day's  march,  we  had  stopped  for 
the  night.  Our  guns  were  stacked,  and  I  started  off  with  a 
comrade  to  get  some  wood  to  cook  supper  with.  We  were  walk 
ing  along,  he  a  little  in  the  rear,  when  he  suddenly  disappeared. 
I  could  not  imagine  what  had  become  of  him.  I  looked  every 
where.  The  earth  seemed  to  have  opened  and  swallowed  him. 
I  called,  and  called,  but  could  get  no  answer.  Presently  I 
heard  a  groan  that  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth  ; 
but,  as  yet,  I  could  not  make  out  where  he  was.  Going  back  to 
camp,  I  procured  a  light,  and  after  whooping  and  hallooing  for 
a  long  time,  I  heard  another  groan,  this  time  much  louder  than 
before.  The  voice  appeared  to  be  overhead.  There  was  no  tree 
or  house  to  be  seen ;  and  then  again  the  voice  seemed  to  answer 
from  under  the  ground,  in  a  hollow,  sepulchral  tone,  but  I  could 
not  tell  where  he  was.  But  I  was  determined  to  find  him,  so  I 
kept  on  hallooing  and  he  answering.  I  went  to  the  place  where 
the  voice  appeared  to  come  out  of  the  earth.  I  was  walking 
along  rather  thoughtlessly  and  carelessly,  when  one  inch  more, 
and  I  would  have  disappeared  also.  Right  before  me  I  saw  the 
long  dry  grass  all  bending  toward  a  common  center,  and  I  knew 
that  it  was  an  old  well,  and  that  my  comrade  had  fallen  in  it. 
But  how  to  get  him  out  was  the  unsolved  problem.  I  ran  back 
to  camp  to  get  assistance,  and  everybody  had  a  great  curiosity  to 
see  "the  man  in  the  well."  They  would  get  chunks  of  fire  and 
shake  over  the  well,  and,  peeping  down,  would  say,  "Well,  he's 
in  there,"  and  go  off,  and  others  would  come  and  talk  about  his 
"being  in  there."  The  poor  fellow  staid  in  that  well  all  night. 
The  next  morning  we  got  a  long  rope  from  a  battery  and  let  it 
down  in  the  well,  and  soon  had  him  on  terra  firma.  He  was 
worse  scared  than  hurt, 

TUSCUMBIA. 

We  arrived  and  remained  at  Tuscumbia  several  days,  await 
ing  the  laying  of  the  pontoons  across  the  Tennessee  river  at 
Florence,  Alabama,  and  then  we  all  crossed  over.  While  at 
Tuscumbia,  John  Branch  and  I  saw  a  nice  sweet  potato  patch. 


204  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

that  looked  very  tempting  to  a  hungry  Kebel.  We  looked  all 
around,  and  thought  that  the  coast  was  clear.  We  jumped  over 
the  fence,  and  commenced  grabbling  for  the  sweet  potatoes.  I 
had  got  my  haversack  full,  and  had  started  off,  when  we  heard, 
ikHalt,  there."  I  looked  around,  and  there  was  a  soldier  guard. 
We  broke  and  run  like  quarter-horses,  and  the  guard  pulled 
down  on  us  just  as  we  jumped  the  fence.  I  don't  think  his  gun 
was  loaded,  though,  because  we  did  not  hear  the  ball  whistle. 

We  marched  from  Decatur  to  Florence.  Here  the  pontoon 
bridges  were  nicely  and  beautifully  stretched  across  the  river. 
We  walked  over  this  floating  bridge,  and  soon  found  ourselves 
on  the  Tennessee  side  of  Tennessee  river. 

In  driving  a  grat  herd  of  cattle  across  the  pontoon,  the 
front  one  got  stubborn,  and  the  others,  crowding  up  all  in  one 
bulk,  broke  the  line  that  held  the  pontoon,  and  drowned  many 
of  the  drove.  We  had  beef  for  supper  that  night. 

EN   ROUTE    FOE    COLUMBIA. 

"And   nightly   we  pitch  our  moving  tent 
A  day's  march  nearer  home." 

How  every  pulse  did  beat  and  leap,  and  how  every  heart 
did  throb  with  emotions  of  joy,  which  seemed  nearly  akin  to 
heaven,  when  we  received  the  glad  intelligence  of  our  onward 
march  toward  the  land  of  promise,  and  of  our  loved  ones.  The 
cold  November  winds  coming  off  the  mountains  of  the  north 
west  wrere  blowing  right  in  our  faces,  and  nearly  cutting  us  in 
two. 

We  were  inured  to  privations  and  hardships ;  had  been  upon 
every  inarch,  in  every  battle,  in  every  skirmish,  in  every  ad 
vance,  in  every  retreat,  in  every  victory,  in  every  defeat.  We 
had  laid  under  the  burning  heat  of  a  tropical  sun ;  had  made 
the  cold,  frozen  earth  our  bed,  with  no  covering  save  the  blue 
canopy  of  heaven ;  had  braved  dangers,  had  breasted  floods : 
had  seen  our  comrades  slain  upon  our  right  and  our  left  hand ; 
had  heard  guns  that  carried  death  in  their  missiles;  had  heard 
the  shouts  of  the  charge ;  had  seen  the  enemy  in  full  retreat  and 
flying  in  every  direction;  had  heard  the  shrieks  and  groans  of 


ADVANCE    INTO   TENNESSEE.  205 

the  wounded  and  dying;  had  seen  the  blood  of  our  countrymen 
dyeing  the  earth  and  enriching  the  soil ;  had  been  hungry  when 
there  was  nothing  to  eat ;  had  been  in  rags  and  tatters.  We  had 
marked  the  frozen  earth  with  bloody  and  unshod  feet;  had  been 
elated  with  victory  and  crushed  by  defeat;  had  seen  and  felt 
the  pleasure  of  the  life  of  a  soldier,  and  had  drank  the  cup  to  its 
dregs.  Yes,  we  had  seen  it  all,  and  had  shared  in  its  hopes  and 
its  fears ;  its  love  and  its  hate ;  its  good  and  its  bad ;  its  virtue 
and  its  vice;  its  glories  and  its  shame.  We  had  followed  the 
successes  and  reverses  of  the  flag  of  the  Lost  Cause  through  all 
these  years  of  blood  and  strife. 

I  was  simply  one  of  hundreds  of  thousands  in  the  same  fix. 
The  tale  is  the  same  that  every  soldier  would  tell,  except  Jim 
Whitler.  Jim  had  dodged  about,  and  had  escaped  being  con 
scripted  until  "Hood's  raid,"  he  called  it.  Hood's  army  wa? 
taking  up  every  able-bodied  man  and  conscripting  him  into  the 
army.  Jim  Whitler  had  got  a  position  as  overseer  on  a  large 
plantation,  and  had  about  a  hundred  negroes  under  his  surveil 
lance.  The  army  had  been  passing  a  given  point,  and  Jim  was 
sitting  quietly  on  the  fence  looking  at  the  soldiers.  The  con 
scripting  squad  nabbed  him.  Jim  tried  to  beg  off,  but  all 
entreaty  was  in  vain.  He  wanted  to  go  by  home  and  tell  his 
wife  and  children  good-bye,  and  to  get  his  clothes.  It  was  no 
go.  But,  after  awhile,  Jim  says,  "Gentlemen,  ay,  Ganny,  the 
law!"  You  see,  Jim  "knowed"  the  law.  He  didn't  know  B 
from  a  bull's  foot  in  the  spelling-book.  But  he  said,  the  lair. 
Now,  when  anyone  says  anything  about  the  "law,"  every  one 
stops  to  listen.  Jim  says,  "Ah,  Ganny,  the  law" — (laying  great 
stress  upon  the  law) — "allows  every  man  who  has  twenty  negroes 
to  stay  at  home.  Ah,  Ganny!"  Those  old  soldiers  had  long, 
long  ago,  forgotten  about  that  old  "law"  of  the  long  gone  past ; 
but  Jim  had  treasured  it  up  in  his  memory,  lo!  these  many 
years,  and  he  thought  it  would  serve  him  now,  as  it  had,  no 
doubt,  frequently  done  in  the  past.  The  conscript  officer  said, 
"Law  or  no  law — you  fall  into  line,  take  this  gun  and  cartridge- 
box,  and  march!"  Jim's  spirits  sank;  his  hopes  vanished  into 
air.  Jim  was  soon  in  line,  and  was  tramping  to  the  music  of 


206  CO.    H.,    FIRST    TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

the  inarch.  He  stayed  with  the  company  two  days.  The  third 
day  it  was  reported  that  the  Yankees  had  taken  position  on  the 
Murfreesboro  pike.  A  regiment  was  sent  to  the  attack.  It  was 
Jim's  regiment.  He  advanced  bravely  into  battle.  The  min- 
nie  balls  began  to  whistle  around  his  ears.  The  regiment  was 
ordered  to  fire.  He  hadn't  seen  anything  to  shoot  at,  but  he 
blazed  away.  He  loaded  and  fired  the  second  time,  when  they 
were  ordered  to  retreat.  He  didn't  see  anything  to  run  from, 
but  the  other  soldiers  began  to  run,  and  Jim  run,  too.  Jim  had 
not  learned  the  word  "halt!"  and  just  kept  on  running.  He 
run,  and  he  run,  and  he  run,  and  he  kept  on  running  until  he 
got  home,  when  he  jumped  in  his  door  and  shouted,  "Whoopee, 
Rhoda  !  Aye,  Ganny,  I've  served  four  years  in  the  Rebel  army." 


CHAPTER  XVI.— BATTLES  IX  TEXXESSEE. 

COLUMBIA. 
"This    is   my    own,    my  native    land." 

Once  more  the  Maury  Grays  are  permitted  to  put  their 
feet  upon  their  native  heath,  and  to  revisit  their  homes  and 
friends,  after  having  followed  their  tattered,  and  torn,  and  bat 
tle-riddled  flag,  which  they  had  borne  aloft  for  four  long  years, 
on  every  inarch,  and  in  every  battle  that  had  been  fought  by  the 
Army  of  Tennessee.  We  were  a  mere  handful  of  devoted 
braves,  who  had  stood  by  our  colors  when  sometimes  it  seemed 
that  God  himself  had  forsaken  us.  But,  parents,  here  are  your 
noble  and  brave  sons ;  and,  ladies,  four  years  ago  you  gave  us 
this  flag,  and  we  promised  you  "That  we  would  come  back  with 
the  fla^'  as  victors,  or  we  would  coine  not  at  all."  We  have  been 


BATTLES    IN   TENNESSEE.  207 

true  to  our  promise  and  our  trust.  On  every  battlefield  the  flag 
that  you  entrusted  to  our  hands  has  been  borne  aloft  by  brave 
and  heroic  men,  amid  shot  and  shell,  bloody  battle,  and  death. 
We  have  never  forsaken  our  colors.  Are  we  worthy  to  be  called 
the  sons  of  old  Maury  county?  Or  have  we  fought  in  vain? 
Have  our  efforts  been  appreciated,  or  have  four  years  of  our 
lives  been  wasted,  while  we  were  battling  for  constitutional  gov 
ernment,  the  supremacy  of  our  laws  over  centralization,  and 
our  rights,  as  guaranteed  to  us  by  the  blood  of  our  forefathers 
on  the  battlefields  of  the  Revolution  ?  It  is  for  you  to  make  up 
your  verdict.  If  our  lives  as  soldiers  have  been  a  failure,  we 
can  but  bow  our  heads  on  our  bosoms,  and  say,  " Surely,  four 
years  of  our  lives  have  been  given  for  naught,  and  our  efforts 
to  please  you  have  been  in  vain." 

Yet,  the  invader's  foot  is  still  on  our  soil,  but  there  beats 
in  our  bosoms  the  blood  of  brave  and  patriotic  men,  and  we  will 
continue  to  follow  our  old  and  war-worn  and  battle-riddled  flag 
until  it  goes  down  forever. 

The  Maury  Grays,  commanded  by  Captain  A.  M.  Looney, 
left  Columbia,  four  years  ago,  with  120  men.  How  many  of 
those  120  original  members  are  with  the  company  to-day  ?  Just 
twelve.  Company  H  has  twenty  members,  but  some  of  this 
number  had  subsequently  enlisted.  But  we  twelve  will  stick 
to  our  colors  till  she  goes  down  forever,  and  until  five  more  of 
this  number  fall  dead  and  bleeding  on  the  battlefield. 

A  FIASCO. 

When  we  arrived  in  sight  of  Columbia,  we  found  the  Yan 
kees  still  in  possession  of  the  town,  fortified  and  determined  to 
resist  our  advance.  We  send  forward  a  "feeler,"  and  the 
"feeler"  reports  back  very  promptly,  "Yes,  the  Yankees  are 
there."  Well,  if  that  be  the  case,  we'll  just  make  a  flank  move 
ment.  We  turn  off  the  main  turnpike  at  J.  E.  R.  Carpenter's, 
and  march  through  the  cedars,  and  cross  Duck  river  at  Davis' 
ferry,  on  pontoon  bridges,  near  Lowell's  mill.  We  pass  on, 
and  cross  Rutherford  creek',  near  Burick's  mill,  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  We  had  marched  through  fields  in 


208  CO.    H.,   FIRST   TENNESSEE    REGIMENT. 

the  heavy  mud,  and  the  men,  weary  and  worn  out,  were  just 
dragging  themselves  along,  passing  by  the  old  Union  Seminary, 
and  then  by  Mr.  Fred  Thompson's,  until  we  came  to  the  Rally 
Hill  turnpike — it  being  then  nearly  dark — we  heard  some  skir 
mishing,  but,  exhausted  as  we  were,  we  went  into  bivouac.  The 
Yankees,  it  seems  to  me,  might  have  captured  the  whole  of  us. 
But  that  is  a  matter  of  history.  But  I  desire  to  state  that  no 
blunder  was  made  by  either  Generals  Cheat-ham  or  Stewart, 
neither  of  whom  ever  failed  to  come  to  time.  Jeff  Davis  is 
alone  responsible  for  the  blunder.  About  two  hours  after  sun 
up  the  next  morning  we  received  the  order  to  "Fall  in,  fall  in, 
quick,  make  haste,  hurrah,  promptly,  men;  each  rank  count 
two;  by  the  right  flank,  quick  time,  march;  keep  promptly 
closed  up."  Everything  indicated  an  immediate  attack.  When 
we  got  to  the  turnpike  near  Spring  Hill,  lo !  and  behold !  won 
der  of  wonders !  the  whole  Yankee  army  had  passed  during  the 
night.  The  bird  had  flown.  We  make  a  quick  and  rapid  march 
down  the  turnpike,  finding  Yankee  guns  and  knapsacks,  and 
now  and  then  a  broken  down  straggler,  also  two  pieces  of  how 
itzer  cannon,  and  at  least  twenty  broken  wagons  along  the  road. 
Everything  betokened  a  rout  and  a  stampede  of  the  Yankee 
army.  Double  quick!  Forrest  is  in  the  rear.  Now  for  fun. 
All  that  we  want  to  do  now  is  to  catch  the  blue-coated  rascals, 
ha!  ha!  We  all  want  to  see  the  surrender,  ha!  ha!  Double 
quick!  A  rip,  rip,  rip;  wheuf ;  pant,  pant,  pant.  First  one 
man  drops  out,  and  then  another.  The  Yankees  are  routed  and 
running,  and  Forrest  has  crossed  Harpeth  river  in  the  rear  of 
Franklin.  Hurrah,  men !  keep  closed  up ;  we  are  going  to  cap 
ture  Schofield.  Forrest  is  in  the  rear ;  never  mind  the  straggler 
and  cannon.  Kerflop  we  come  against  the  breastworks  at 
Frantlin. 

FRANKLIN. 
"The   death-angel   gathers  its    last    harvest.'' 

Kind  reader,  right  here  my  pen,  and  courage,  and  ability 
fail  me.  I  shrink  from  butchery.  *  Would  to  God  I  could  tear 
the  page  from  these  memoirs  and  from  my  own  memory.  It 


BATTLES   IN   TENNESSEE.  209 

is  the  blackest  page  in  the  history  of  the  war  of  the  Lost  Cause. 
It  was  the  bloodiest  battle  of  modern  times  in  any  war.  It  was 
the  finishing  stroke  to  the  independence  of  the  Southern  Con 
federacy.  I  was  there.  I  saw  it.  My  flesh  trembles,  and 
creeps,  and  crawls  \vhen  I  think  of  it  to-day.  My  heart  almost 
ceases  to  beat  at  the  horrid  recollection.  Would  to  God  that  I 
had  never  witnessed  such  a  scene ! 

I  cannot  describe  it.  It  beggars  description.  I  will  nor 
attempt  to  describe  it.  I  could  not.  The  death-angel  was  there 
to  gather  its  last  harvest.  It  was  the  grand  coronation  of  death. 
Would  that  I  could  turn  the  page.  But  I  feel,  though  I  did  so, 
that  page  would  still  be  there,  teeming  with  its  scenes  of  horror 
and  blood.  I  can  only  tell  of  what  I  saw. 

Our  regiment  was  resting  in  the  gap  of  a  range  of  hills  in 
plain  view  of  the  city  of  Franklin.  We  could  see  the  battle- 
flags  of  the  enemy  waving  in  the  breeze.  Our  army  had  been 
depleted  of  its  strength  by  a  forced  march  from  Spring  Hill, 
and  stragglers  lined  the  road.  Our  artillery  had  not  yet  come 
up,  and  could  not  be  brought  into  action.  Our  cavalry  was 
across  Harpeth  river,  and  our  army  was  but  in  poor  condition  to 
make  an  assault.  While  resting  on  this  hill-side,  I  saw  a  cou 
rier  dash  up  to  our  commanding  general,  B.  F.  Cheatham,  and 
the  word,  "Attention !"  w7as  given.  I  knew  then  that  we  would 
soon  be  in  action.  Forward,  march.  We  passed  over  the  hill 
and  through  a  little  skirt  of  woods. 

The  enemy  were  fortified  right  across  the  Franklin  pike, 
in  the  suburbs  of  the  town.  Right  here  in  these  woods  a  detail 
of  skirmishers  was  called  for.  Our  regiment  was  detailed. 
We  deployed  as  skirmishers,  firing  as  we  advanced  on  the  left  of 
the  turnpike  road.  If  I  had  not  been  a  skirmisher  on  that  day, 
I  would  not  have  been  writing  this  to-day,  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  1882. 

It  was  four  o'clock  on  that  dark  and  dismal  December  day 
when  the  line  of  battle  was  formed,  and  those  devoted  heroes 
wTere  ordered  forward,  to 

"Strike  for  their  altars  and  their  fires, 
For  the  green  graves  of  their  sires, 
For  God  and  their  native  land." 


210  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

As  they  marched  on  down  through  an  open  field  toward  the 
rampart  of  blood  and  death,  the  Federal  batteries  began  to  open 
and  mow  down  and  gather  into  the  garner  of  death,  as  brave, 
and  good,  and  pure  spirits  as  the  world  ever  saw.  The  twi 
light  of  evening  had  begun  to  gather  as  a  precursor  of  the  com 
ing  blackness  of  midnight  darkness  that  was  to  envelop  a  scene 
so  sickening  and  horrible  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  describe 
it.  "Forward,  men/'  is  repeated  all  along  the  line.  A  sheet  of 
fire  was  poured  into  our  very  faces,  and  for  a  moment  we  halted 
as  if  in  despair,  as  the  terrible  avalanche  of  shot  and  shell  laid 
low  those  brave  and  gallant  heroes,  whose  bleeding  wounds  at 
tested  that  the  struggle  would  be  desperate.  Forward,  men! 
The  air  loaded  with  death-dealing  missiles.  Never  on  this  earth 
did  men  fight  against  such  terrible  odds.  It  seemed  that  the 
very  elements  of  heaven  and  earth  were  in  one  mighty  uproar. 
Forward,  men !  And  the  blood  spurts  in  a  perfect  jet  from 
the  dead  and  Avounded.  The  earth  is  red  with  blood.  It  runs 
in  streams,  making  little  rivulets  as  it  flows.  Occasionally  there 
was  a  little  lull  in  the  storm  of  battle,  as  the  men  were  loading 
their  guns,  and  for  a  few  moments  it  seemed  as  if  night  tried  to 
cover  the  scene  with  her  mantle.  The  death-angel  shrieks  and 
laughs  and  old  Father  Time  is  busy  with  his  sickle,  as  he  gathers 
in  the  last  harvest  of  death,  crying,  More,  more,  more !  while  his 
rapacious  maw  is  glutted  with  the  slain. 

But  the  skirmish  line  being  deployed  out,  extending  a  little 
wider  than  the  battle  did — passing  through  a  thicket  of  small 
locusts,  where  Brown,  orderly  sergeant  of  Company  B,  was 
killed — we  advanced  on  toward  the  breastworks,  on  and  on.  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  die — felt  glorious.  We  pressed  for 
ward  until  I  heard  the  terrific  roar  of  battle  open  on  our  right. 
Cleburne's  division  was  charging  their  works.  I  passed  on  un 
til  I  got  to  their  works,  and  got  over  on  their  (the  Yankees7)  side. 
But  in  fifty  yards  of  where  I  was  the  scene  was  lit  up  by  fires 
that  seemed  like  hell  itself.  It  appeared  to  be  but  one  line  of 
streaming  fire.  Our  troops  were  upon  one  side  of  the  breast 
works,  and  the  Federals  on  the  other.  I  ran  up  on  the  line  of 
works,  where  our  men  were  engaged.  Dead  soldiers  filled  the 


BATTLES   IN    TENNESSEE.  211 

entrenchments.  The  firing  was  kept  up  until  after  midnight, 
and  gradually  died  out.  We  passed  the  night  where  we  were. 
But  when  the  morrow's  sun  began  to  light  up  the  eastern  sky 
Avitli  its  rosy  hues,  and  we  looked  over  the  battlefield,  O,  my 
God!  what  did  we  see!  It  was  a  grand  holocaust  of  death. 
Death  had  held  high  carnival  there  that  night.  The  dead  were 
piled  the  one  on  the  other  all  over  the  ground.  I  never  was  sc 
horrified  and  appalled  in  my  life.  Horses,  like  men,  had  died 
game  on  the  gory  breastworks.  General  Adams'  horse  had  hi? 
fore  feet  on  one  side  of  the  works  and  his  hind  feet  on  the  other, 
dead.  The  general  seems  to  have  been  caught  so  that  he  was 
held  to  the  horse's  back,  sitting  almost  as  if  living,  riddled,  and 
mangled,  and  torn  with  balls.  General  Cleburne's  mare  had  her 
fore  feet  on  top  of  the  works,  dead  in  that  position.  General 
Cleburne's  body  was  pierced  with  forty-nine  bullets,  througji 
and  through.  General  Strahl's  horse  lay  by  the  roadside  and 
the  general  by  his  side,  both  dead,  and  all  his  staff.  General 
Gist,  a  noble  and  brave  cavalier  from  South  Carolina,  was  lying 
with  his  sword  reaching  across  the  breastworks  still  grasped  in 
his  hand.  He  was  lying  there  dead.  All  dead!  They  sleep 
in  the  graveyard  yonder  at  Ashwood,  almost  in  sight  of  my 
home,  where  I  am  writing  to-day.  They  sleep  the  sleep  of  the 
brave.  We  love  and  cherish  their  memory.  They  sleep  be 
neath  the  ivy-mantled  walls  of  St.  John's  church,  where  they 
expressed  a.  wish  to  be  buried.  The  private  soldier  sleeps  where 
he  fell,  piled  in  one  mighty  heap.  Four  thousand  five  hundred 
privates !  all  lying  side  by  side  in  death !  Thirteen  generals 
were  killed  and  wounded.  Four  thousand  five  hundred  men 
slain,  all  piled  and  heaped  together  at  one  place.  I  cannot  tell 
the  number  of  others  killed  and  wounded.  God  alone  know* 
that.  We'll  all  find  out  on  the  morning  of  the  final  resurrec 
tion. 

Kind  friends,  I  have  attempted  in  my  poor  and  feeble  way 
to  tell  you  of  this  (I  can  hardly  call  it)  battle.  It  should  be 
called  by  some  other  name.  But,  like  all  other  battles,  it,  too, 
has  gone  into  history.  I  leave  it  with  you.  I  do  not  know  who 
was  to  blame.  It  lives  in  the  memory  of  the  poor  old  Rebel 


212 


CO.    H.,   FIEST   TENNESSEE   EEGIAIEXT. 


soldier  who  went  through  that  trying  and  terrible  ordeal.  We 
shed  a  tear  for  the  dead.  They  are  buried  and  forgotten.  We 
meet  no  more  on  earth.  But  up  yonder,  beyond  the  sunset  and 
the  night,  away  beyond  the  clouds  and  tempest,  away  beyond 
the  stars  that  ever  twinkle  and  shine  in  the  blue  vault  above  us, 
away  yonder  by  the  great  white  throne,  and  by  the  river  of  life, 
where  the  Almighty  and  Eternal  God  sits,  surrounded  by  the 
angels  and  archangels  and  the  redeemed  of  earth,  we  wrill  meet 
again  and  see  those'  noble  and  brave  spirits  who  gave  up  their 
lives  for  their  country's  cause  that  night  at  Franklin,  Tennessee. 
A  life  given  for  one's  country  is  never  lost.  It  blooms  again 
beyond  the  grave  in  a  land  of  beauty  and  of  love.  Hanging 
around  the  throne  of  sapphire  and  gold,  a  rich  garland  awaits 
the  coming  of  him  who  died  for  his  country,  and  when  the  horo 
loge  of  time  has  struck  its  last  note  upon  his  dying  brow,  Justice 
hands  the  record  of  life  to  Mercy  ?  and  Mercy  pleads  with  Jesus, 
and  God,  for  his  sake,  receives  him  in  his  eternal  home  beyond 
the  skies  at  last  and  forever. 

NASHVILLE. 

A  few  more  scenes,  my  dear  friends,  and  we  close  these 
memoirs.  We  march  toward  the  city  of  Nashville.  We  camp 
the  first  night  at  Brentwood.  The  next  day  we  can  see  the  fine 
old  building  of  solid  granite,  looming  up  on  Capitol  Hill — the 
capitol  of  Tennessee.  We  can  see  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flying 
from  the  dome.  Our  pulse  leaps  with  pride  when  we  see  the 
grand  old  architecture.  We  can  hear  the  bugle  call,  and  the 
playing  of  the  bands  of  the  different  regiments  in  the  Federal 
lines.  Now  and  then  a  shell  is  thrown  into  our  midst  from 
Fort  Negley,  but  no  attack  or  demonstrations  on  either  side. 
We  bivouac  on  the  cold  and  hard-frozen  ground,  and  when  we 
walk  about,  the  echo  of  our  footsteps  sound  like  the  echo  of  a 
tombstone.  The  earth  is  crusted  with  snow,  and  the  wind  from 
the  northwest  is  piercing  our  very  bones.  We  can  see  our 
ragged  soldiers,  with  sunken  cheeks  and  famine-glistening  eyes. 
WThere  were  our  generals  ?  Alas !  there  were  none.  Not  one 
single  general  out  of  Cheatham's  division  was  left — not  one. 


BATTLES    IN   TENNESSEE.  213 

General  B.  F.  Cheatham  himself  was  the  only  surviving  general 
of  his  old  division.  Nearly  all  our  captains  and  colonels  were 
gone.  Companies  mingled  with  companies,  regiments  with  reg 
iments,  and  brigades  with  brigades.  A  few  raw-boned  horses 
stood  shivering  under  the  ice-covered  trees,  nibbling  the  short, 
scanty  grass.  Being  in  range  of  the  Federal  guns  from  Fort 
Xegley,  we  were  not  alloAved  to  have  fires  at  night,  and  our  thin 
and  ragged  blankets  were  but  poor  protection  against  the  cold, 
raw  blasts  of  December  weather — the  coldest  ever  known.  The 
cold  stars  seem  to  twinkle  with  unusual  brilliancy,  and  the  pale 
moon  seems  to  be  but  one  vast  heap  of  frozen  snow,  which  glim 
mers  in  the  cold  gray  sky,  and  the  air  gets  colder  by  its  coming ; 
our  breath,  forming  in  little  rays,  seems  to  make  a  thousand  lit 
tle  coruscations  that  scintillate  in  the  cold  frosty  air.  I  can  tell 
you  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  among  the  generals.  But 
there  we  were,  and  that  is  all  that  I  can  tell  you.  One  morning 
about  daylight  our  army  began  to  move.  Our  division  was  then 
on  the  extreme  right  wing,  and  then  we  were  transferred  to  the 
left  wing.  The  battle  had  begun.  We  were  continually  mov 
ing  to  our  left.  We  would  build  little  temporary  breastworks, 
then  we  would  be  moved  to  another  place.  Our  lines  kept  on 
widening  out,  and  stretching  further  and  further  apart,  until  it 
was  not  more  than  a  skeleton  of  a  skirmish  line  from  one  end  to 
the  other.  We  started  at  a  run.  We  cared  for  nothing.  ISTot 
more  than  a  thousand  yards  off,  we  could  see  the  Yankee  cavalry, 
artillery,  and  infantry,  marching  apparently  still  further  to  our 
left.  We  could  see  regiments  advancing  at  double-quick  across 
the  fields,  while,  with  our  army,  everything  seemed  confused. 
The  private  soldier  could  not  see  into  things.  It  seemed  to  be 
somewhat  like  a  flock  of  wild  geese  when  they  have  lost  their 
leader.  We  were  \villing  to  go  anywhere,  or  to  follow  anyone 
who  would  lead  us.  We  were  anxious  to  flee,  fight,  or  fortify. 
I  have  never  seen  an  army  so  confused  and  demoralized.  The 
whole  thing  seemed  to  be  tottering  and  trembling.  When, 
Halt!  Front!  Rir/Jtt  dress!  and  Adjutant  McKinney  reads  u? 
the  following  order : 

"SoLDiEEs: — The  commanding  general  takes  pleasure  in 
announcing  to  his  troops  that  victory  and  success  are  now  within 


214  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

their  grasp ;  and  the  commanding  general  feels  proud  and  grati 
fied  that  in  ever}7  attack  and  assault  the  enemy  have  been  re 
pulsed;  and  the  commanding  general  will  further  say  to  his 
noble  and  gallant  troops,  'Be  of  good  cheer — all  is  well/ 

"GENERAL  JOHN  B.  HOOD, 

"KINLOCK  FALCONER,  "General  Commanding. 

"Acting  Adjutant-General." 

I  remember  how  this  order  Avas  received.  Every  soldier 
said,  "O,  shucks ;  that  is  all  shenanigan/'  for  we  knew  that  we 
had  never  met  the  enemy  or  fired  a  gun  outside  of  a  little  skir 
mishing.  And  I  will  further  state  that  that  battle  order,  an 
nouncing  success  and  victory,  was  the  cause  of  a  greater  demor 
alization  than  if  our  troops  had  been  actually  engaged  in  battle. 
They  at  once  mistrusted  General  Hood's  judgment  as  a  com 
mander.  And  every  private  soldier  in  the  whole  army  knew 
the  situation  of  affairs.  I  remember  when  passing  by  Hood, 
how  feeble  and  decrepit  he  looked,  with  an  arm  in  a  sling,  and  a 
crutch  in  the  other  hand,  and  trying  to  guide  and  control  his 
horse.  And,  reader,  I  was  not  a  Christian  then,  and  am  but 
little  better  to-day ;  but,  as  God  sees  my  heart  to-night,  I  prayed 
in  my  heart  that  day  for  General  Hood.  Poor  fellow,  I  loved 
him,  not  as  a  General,  but  as  a  good  man.  I  knew  when  that 
army  order  was  read,  that  General  Hood  had  been  deceived,  and 
that  the  poor  fellow  was  only  trying  to  encourage  his  men. 
Every  impulse  of  his  nature  was  but  to  do  good,  and  to  serve  his 
country  as  best  he  could.  Ah  !  reader,  some  day  all  will  be  well. 

We  continued  marching  toward  our  left,  our  battle-line 
getting  thinner  and  thinner.  We  could  see  the  Federals  ad 
vancing,  their  blue  coats  and  banners  flying,  and  could  see 
their  movements  and  hear  them  giving  their  commands.  Our 
regiment  was  ordered  to  double  quick  to  the  extreme  left 
wing  of  the  army,  and  we  had  to  pass  up  a  steep  hill,  and 
the  dead  grass  was  wet  and  as  slick  as  glass,  and  it  was  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  we  could  get  up  the  steep  hill 
side.  When  we  got  to  the  top,  we,  as  skirmishers,  were  ordered 
to  deploy  still  further  to  the  left.  Billy  Carr  and  J.  E.  Jones, 
two  as  brave  soldiers  as  ever  breathed  the  breath  of  life — in  fact, 


BATTLES   IN    TENNESSEE.  215 

it  was  given  up  that  they  were  the  bravest  and  most  daring  men 
in  the  Army  of  Tennessee — and  my  self ;  were  on  the  very  ex 
treme  left  >Aving  of  onr  army.  While  we  were  deployed  as 
bkirmishers,  I  heard,  "Surrender,  surrender,"  and  on  looking 
around  us,  I  saw  that  we  were  right  in  the  midst  of  a  Yankee 
line  of  battle.  They  were  lying  down  in  the  bushes,  and  we 
were  not  looking  for  them  so  close  to  us.  We  immediately 
threw  down  our  guns  and  surrendered.  J.  E.  Jones  was  killed 
at  the  first  discharge  of  their  guns,  when  another  Yankee  raised 
up  and  took  deliberate  aim  at  Billy  Carr,  and  fired,  the  ball 
striking  him  below  the  eye  and  passing  through  his  head.  As 
soon  as  I  could,  I  picked  up  my  gun,  and  as  the  Yankee  turned 
I  sent  a  minnie  ball  crushing  through  his  head,  and  broke  and 
run.  But  I  am  certain  that  I  killed  the  Yankee  who  killed 
Billy  Carr,  but  it  was  too  late  to  save  the  poor  boy's  life.  As  I 
started  to  run,  a  fallen  dogwood  tree  tripped  me  up,  and  I  fell 
over  the  log.  It  was  all  that  saved  me.  The  log  was  riddled 
with  balls,  and  thousands,  it  seemed  to  me,  passed  over  it.  As 
I  got  up  to  run  again,  I  was  shot  through  the  middle  finger  of 
the  very  hand  that  is  now  penning  these  lines,  and  the  thigh. 
But  I  had  just  killed  a  Yankee,  and  was  determined  to  get 
away  from  there  as  soon  as  I  could.  How  I  did  get  back  I 
hardly  know,  for  I  was  wounded  and  surrounded  by  Yankees. 
One  rushed  forward,  and  placing  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  in  two 
feet  of  me,  discharged  it,  but  it  missed  its  aim,  when  I  ran  at 
him,  grabbed  him  by  the  collar,  and  brought  him  off  a  prisoner. 
Captain  Joe  P.  Lee  and  Colonel  H.  R.  Field  remember  this,  as 
would  Lieutenant-Colonel  John  L.  House,  were  he  alive;  and 
all  the  balance  of  Company  H,  who  were  there  at  the  time.  I 
had  eight  bullet  holes  in  my  coat,  and  two  in  my  hand,  beside 
the  one  in  my  thigh  and  finger.  It  was  a  hail  storm  of  bullets. 
The  above  is  true  in  every  particular,  and  is  but  one  incident  of 
the  war,  wThich  happened  to  hundreds  of  others.  But,  alas !  all 
our  valor  and  victories  were  in  vain,  when  God  and  the  whole 
world  were  against  us. 

Billy  Carr  was  one  of  the  bravest  and  best  men  I  ever 
knew.     He  never  knew  what  fear  was,  and  in  consequence  of 


216  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

his  reckless  bravery,  had  been  badly  wounded  at  Perryville. 
Murfreesboro,  Chickamauga,  the  octagon  house,  Dead  Angle, 
and  the  22nd  of  July  at  Atlanta.  In  every  battle  he  was 
wounded,  and  finally,  in  the  very  last  battle  of  the  war,  surren 
dered  up  his  life  for  his  country's  cause.  'No  father  and  mother 
of  such  a  brave  and  gallant  boy,  should  ever  sorrow  or  regret 
having  born  to  them  such  a  son.  He  was  the  flower  and  chiv 
alry  of  his  company.  He  was  as  good  as  he  was  brave.  His 
bones  rest  yonder  on  the  Overton  hills  to-day,  while  I  have  no 
doubt  in  my  own  mind  that  his  spirit  is  with  the  Redeemer  of 
the  hosts  of  heaven.  He  was  my  friend.  Poor  boy,  farewell ! 

When  I  got  back  to  where  I  could  see  our  lines,  it  was  one 
scene  of  confusion  and  rout.  Finney's  Florida  brigade  had 
broken  before  a  mere  skirmish  line,  and  soon  the  whole  army 
had  caught  the  infection,  had  broken,  and  were  running  in  every 
direction.  Such  a  scene  I  never  saw.  The  army  was  panic- 
stricken.  The  woods  everywhere  were  full  of  running  soldiers. 
Our  officers  were  crying,  "Halt !  halt !"  and  trying  to  rally  and 
re-form  their  broken  ranks.  The  Federals  would  dash  their 
cavalry  in  amongst  us,  and  even  their  cannon  joined  in  the 
charge.  One  piece  of  Yankee  artillery  galloped  past  me,  right 
on  the  road,  unlimbered  their  gun,  fired  a  few  shots,  and  galloped 
ahead  again. 

Hood's  whole  army  was  routed  and  in  full  retreat.  Nearly 
every  man  in  the  entire  army  had  thrown  away  his  gun  and 
accouterments.  More  than  ten  thousand  had  stopped  and  al 
lowed  themselves  to  be  captured,  while  many,  dreading  the  hor 
rors  of  a  Northern  prison,  kept  on,  and  I  saw  many,  yea,  even 
thousands,  broken  down  from  sheer  exhaustion,  with  despair 
and  pity  written  on  their  features.  Wagon  trains,  cannon, 
artillery,  cavalry,  and  infantry  were  all  blended  in  inextricable 
confusion.  Broken  down  and  jaded  horses  and  mules  refused 
to  pull,  and  the  badly-scared  drivers  looked  like  their  eyes  would 
pop  out  of  their  heads  from  fright.  Wagon  wheels,  interlock 
ing  each  other,  soon  clogged  the  road,  and  wagons,  horses  and 
provisions  were  left  indiscriminately.  The  officers  soon  became 
effected  with  the  demoralization  of  their  troops,  and  rode  on  in 


BATTLES   IN   TENNESSEE.  217 

dogged  indifference.  General  Frank  Cheatham  and  General 
Lor  ing  tried  to  form  a  line  at  Brentwood,  but  the  line  they 
formed  was  like  trying  to  stop  the  current  of  Duck  river  with  a 
fish  net.  I  believe  the  army  would  have  rallied,  had  there  been 
any  colors  to  rally  to.  And  as  the  straggling  army  moves  on 
down  the  road,  every  now  and  then  we  can  hear  the  sullen  roar 
of  the  Federal  artillery  booming  in  the  distance.  I  saw  a 
wagon  and  team  abandoned,  and  I  unhitched  one  of  the  horses 
and  rode  on  horse-back  to  Franklin,  where  a  surgeon  tied  up  my 
broken  finger,  and  bandaged  up  my  bleeding  thigh.  My  boot 
was  full  of  blood,  and  my  clothing  saturated  with  it.  I  was  at 
General  Hood's  headquarters.  He  was  much  agitated  and  af 
fected,  pulling  his  hair  with  his  one  hand  (he  had  but  one), 
and  crying  like  his  heart  would  break.  I  pitied  him,  poor  fel 
low.  I  asked  him  for  a  wounded  furlough,  and  he  gave  it  to 
me.  I  never  saw  him  afterward.  I  always  loved  and  honored 
him,  and  will  ever  revere  and  cherish  his  memory.  He  gave 
his  life  in  the  service  of  his  country,  and  I  know  to-day  he  wears 
a  garland  of  glory  beyond  the  grave,  where  Justice  says  "well 
done,'7  and  Mercy  has  erased  all  his  errors  and  faults. 

I  only  write  of  the  under  strata  of  history ;  in  other  words, 
the  privates'  history — as  I  saw  things  then,  and  remember  them 
now. 

The  winter  of  1864-5  was  the  coldest  that  had  been  known 
for  many  years.  The  ground  was  frozen  and  rough,  and  our 
soldiers  were  poorly  clad,  while  many,  yes,  very  many,  were 
entirely  barefooted.  Our  wagon  trains  had  either  gone  on,  we 
knew  not  whither,  or  had  been  left  behind.  Everything  and 
nature,  too,  seemed  to  be  working  against  us.  Even  the  keen, 
cutting  air  that  whistled  through  our  tattered  clothes  and  over 
our  poorly  covered  heads,  seemed  to  lash  us  in  its  fury.  The 
floods  of  waters  that  had  overflowed  their  banks,  seemed  to  laugh 
at  our  calamity,  and  to  mock  us  in  our  misfortunes. 

All  along  the  route  were  weary  and  footsore  soldiers.  The 
citizens  seemed  to  shrink  and  hide  from  us  as  we  approached 
them.  And,  to  cap  the  climax,  Tennessee  river  was  overflow 
ing  its  banks,  and  several  Federal  gunboats  were  anchored  just 
below  Mussel  Shoals,  firing  at  us  while  crossing. 


218  CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

The  once  proud  Army  of  Tennessee  had  degenerated  to  a 
mob.  We  were  pinched  by  hunger  and  cold.  The  rains,  and 
sleet,  and  snow  never  ceased  falling  from  the  winter  sky,  while 
the  winds  pierced  the  old,  ragged,  grayback  Rebel  soldier  to  his 
very  marrow.  The  clothing  of  many  were  hanging  around 
them  in  shreds  of  rags  and  tatters,  while  an  old  slouched  hat 
covered  their  frozen  ears.  Some  were  on  old,  raw-boned  horses, 
without  saddles. 

Hon.  Jefferson  Davis  perhaps  made  blunders  and  mistakes. 
but  I  honestly  believe  that  he  ever  did  what  he  thought  best  for 
the  good  of  his  country.  And  there  never  lived  on  this  earth, 
from  the  days  of  Hampden  to  George  Washington,  a  purer 
patriot  or  a  nobler  man  than  Jefferson  Davis ;  and,  like  Marius, 
grand  even  in  ruins. 

Hood  was  a  good  man,  a  kind  man,  a  philanthropic  man. 
but  he  is  both  harmless  and  defenseless  now.  He  was  a  poor 
general  in  the  capacity  of  commander-in-chief.  Had  he  been 
mentally  qualified,  his  physical  condition  would  have  disquali 
fied  him.  His  legs  and  one  of  his  arms  had  been  shot  off  in  the 
defense  of  his  country.  As  a  soldier,  he  was  brave,  good,  noble, 
and  gallant,  and  fought  with  the  ferociousness  of  the  wounded 
tiger,  and  with  the  everlasting  grit  of  the  bull-dog:  but  as  a 
general  he  wras  a  failure  in  every  particular. 

Our  country  is  gone,  our  cause  is  lost.  "Actum  est  de  R<>- 
publica" 


THE   SURRENDER.  219 


CHAPTER  XVII.— THE  SURRENDER. 

THE  LAST  ACT  OF  THE  DRAMA. 

On  the  10th  day  of  May,  1861,  our  regiment,  the  First 
Tennessee,  left  Nashville  for  the  camp  of  instruction,  with 
twelve  hundred  and  fifty  men,  officers  and  line.  Other  recruits 
continually  coming  in  swelled  this  number  to  fourteen  hundred. 
In  addition  to  this,  Major  Fulcher's  battalion  of  four  companies, 
with  four  hundred  men  (originally),  was  afterwards  attached 
to,  the  regiment;  and  the  Twenty-seventh  Tennessee  Regiment 
was  afterwards  consolidated  with  the  Eirst,  And  besides  this, 
there  were  about  two  hundred  conscripts  added  to  the  regiment 
from  time  to  time.  To  recapitulate:  The  Eirst  Tennessee, 
numbering  originally,  1,250;  recruited  from  time  to  time,  150; 
Fiddler's  battalion,  400 ;  the  Twenty-seventh  Tennessee,  1,200 ; 
number  of  conscripts  (at  the  lowest  estimate),  200 — making  the 
sum  total  3,200  men  that  belonged  to  our  regiment  during  the 
war.  The  above  I  think  a  low  estimate.  Well,  on  the  26th 
day  of  April,  1865,  General  Joe  E.  Johnston  surrendered  his 
army  at  Greensboro,  North  Carolina.  The  day  that  we 
surrendered  our  regiment  it  was  a  pitiful  sight  to  behold.  If 
I  remember  correctly,  there  were  just  sixty-five  men  in  all,  in 
cluding  officers,  that  were  paroled  on  that  day.  Now,  what 
became  of  the  original  3,200  ?  .  A  grand  army,  you  may  say. 
Three  thousand  two  hundred  men !  Only  sixty-five  left !  Now. 
reader,  you  may  draw  your  own  conclusions.  It  lacked  just 
four  days  of  four  years  from  the  day  we  were  sworn  in  to  the 
day  of  the  surrender,  and  it  was  just  four  years  and  twenty- 
four  days  from  the  time  that  we  left  home  for  the  army  to  the 
time  that  we  got  back  again.  It  was  indeed  a  sad  sight  to  look 
at,  the  old  First  Tennessee  Regiment.  A  mere  squad  of  noblf 
and  brave  men,  gathered  around  the  tattered  flag  that  they  had 
followed  in  every  battle  through  that  long  war.  It  was  so  bul 
let-riddled  and  torn  that  it  was  but  a  few  blue  and  red  shreds 


220  CO.  H.,  FIEST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 

that  hung  drooping  while  it,  too,  was  stacked  with  our  guns 
forever. 

Thermopylae  had  one  messenger  of  defeat,  but  when  Gen 
eral  Joe  E.  Johnston  surrendered  the  Army  of  the  South  there 
were  hundreds  of  regiments,  yea,  I  might  safely  say  thousands, 
that  had  not  a  representative  on  the  26th  day  of  April,  1865. 

Our  cause  was  lost  from  the  beginning.  Our  greatest  vic 
tories — Chickamauga  and  Franklin — were  our  greatest  defeats. 
Our  people  were  divided  upon  the  question  of  Union  and  seces 
sion.  Our  generals  were  scrambling  for  "Who  ranked/'  The 
private  soldier  fought  and  starved  and  died  for  naught.  Our 
hospitals  were  crowded  with  sick  and  wounded,  but  half  pro 
vided  with  food  and  clothing  to  sustain  life.  Our  money  was 
depreciated  to  naught  and  our  cause  lost.  We  left  our  homes 
four  years  previous.  Amid  the  waving  of  flags  and  handker 
chiefs  and  the  smiles  of  the  ladies,  while  the  fife  and  drum  were 
playing  Dixie  and  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag,  we  bid  farewell  to 
home  and  friends.  The  bones  of  our  brave  Southern  boys  lie 
scattered  over  our  loved  South.  They  fought  for  their  " coun 
try  ,"  and  gave  their  lives  freely  for  that  country's  cause;  and 
now  they  who  survive  sit,  like  Marius  amid  the  wreck  of  Car 
thage,  sublime  even  in  ruins.  Other  pens  abler  than  mine  will 
have  to  chronicle  their  glorious  deeds  of  valor  and  devotion. 
In  these  sketches  I  have  named  but  a  few  persons  who  fought 
side  by  side  with  me  during  that  long  and  unholy  war.  In 
looking  back  over  these  pages,  I  ask,  Where  now  are  many  whose 
names  have  appeared  in  these  sketches?  They  are  up  yonder, 
and  are  no  doubt  waiting  and  watching  for  those  of  us  who  are 
left  behind.  And,  my  kind  reader,  the  time  is  coming  wrhen 
we,  too,  will  be  called,  while  the  archangel  of  death  is  beating 
the  long  roll  of  eternity,  and  with  us  it  will  be  the  last  reveille. 
God  Himself  will  sound  the  "assembly"  on  yonder  beautiful  and 
happy  shore,  where  we  will  again  have  a  grand  "reconfedera- 
tion."  We  shed  a  tear  over  their  flower-strewn  graves.  We 
live  after  them.  We  love  their  memory  yet.  But  one  genera 
tion  passes  awray  and  another  generation  follows.  We  know 
our  loved  and  brave  soldiers.  We  love  them  yet. 

But  when  we  pass  away,  the  impartial  historian  will  render 


THE   SURRENDER.  221 

a  true  verdict,  and  a  history  will  then  be  written  in  justification 
and  vindication  of  those  brave  and  noble  boys  who  gave  their  all 
in  fighting  the  battles  of  their  homes,  their  country,  and  their 

God. 

"The  United  States  has  no  North,  no  South,  no  East,  nc 
West."  "We  are  one  and  undivided/' 

ADIEU. 

My  kind  friends — soldiers,  comrades,  brothers,  all:  The 
curtain  is  rung  down,  the  foot-lights  are  put  out,  the  audience 
has  all  left  and  gone  home,  the  seats  are  vacant,  and  the  cold 
walls  are  silent.  The  gaudy  tinsel  that  appears  before  the  foot 
lights  is  exchanged  for  the  dress  of  the  citizen.  Coming  genera 
tions  and  historians  will  be  the  critics  as  to  how  we  have  acted 
our  parts.  The  pasr  is  buried  in  oblivion.  The  blood-red  flag, 
with  its  crescent  and  cross,  that  we  followed  for  four  long, 
bloody,  and  disastrous  years,  has  been  folded  never  again  to  be 
unfurled.  We  have  no  regrets  for  what  we  did,  but  we  mourn 
the  loss  of  so  many  brave  and  gallant  men  who  perished  on  the 
field  of  battle  and  honor.  I  now  bid  you  an  affectionate  adieu. 

But  in  closing  these  memoirs,  the  scenes  of  my  life  pass  in 
rapid  review  before  me.  In  imagination,  I  am  young  agair 
to-night.  I  feel  the  flush  and  vigor  of  my  manhood — am  just 
twenty-one  years  of  age.  I  hear  the  fife  and  drum  playing 
Dixie  and  Bonnie  Blue  Flag.  I  see  and  hear  our  fire-eating 
stump-orators  tell  of  the  right  of  secession  and  disunion.  I  see 
our  fair  and  beautiful  women  waving  their  handkerchiefs  and 
encouraging  their  sweethearts  to  go  to  the  war.  I  see  the  mar 
shaling  of  the  hosts  for  "glorious  war."  I  see  the  fine  banners 
waving  and  hear  the  cry  everywhere,  "To  arms!  to  arms!" 
And  I  also  see  our  country  at  peace  and  prosperous,  our  fine 
cities  look  grand  and  gay,  our  fields  rich  in  abundant  harvests, 
our  people  happy  and  contented.  All  these  pass  in  imagination 
before  me.  Then  I  look  and  see  glorious  war  in  all  its  splen 
dor.  I  hear  the  shout  and  charge,  the  boom  of  artillery  and 
the  rattle  of  small  arms.  I  see  gaily-dressed  officers  charging 
backwards  and  forwards  upon  their  mettled  war  horses,  clothed 


222 


CO.  H.,  FIRST  TENNESSEE  REGIMENT. 


in  the  panoply  of  war.     I  see  victory  and  conquest  upon  flying 
banners.     I  see  our  arms  triumph  in  every  battle.     And,  O 
my  friends,  I  see  another  scene.     I  see  broken  homes  and  broken 
hearts.      I  see  war  in  all  of  its  desolation.     I  see  a  country 
ruined   and  impoverished.     I  see  a  nation  disfranchised  and 
maltreated.     I  see  a  commonwealth  forced  to  pay  dishonest  and 
fraudulent  bonds  that  were  issued  to  crush  that  people.     I  see 
sycophants  licking  the  boots  of  the  country's  oppressor.     I  see 
other  and  many  wrongs  perpetrated  upon  a  conquered  people. 
But  maybe  it  is  but  the  ghosts  and  phantoms  of  a  dreamy  mind, 
or  the  wind  as  it  whistles  around  our  lonely  cabin-home.     The 
past  is  buried  in  oblivion.      The  mantle  of  charity  has  long  ago 
fallen  upon  those  who  think  differently  from  us.     We  remember 
no  longer  wrongs  and  injustice  done  us  by  any  one  on  earth. 
We  are  willing  to  forget  and  forgive  those  who  have  wronged 
and  falsified  us.     We  look  up  above  and  beyond  all  these  petty 
groveling  things  and  shake  hands  and  forget  the  past.     And 
while  my  imagination  is  like  the  weaver's  shuttle,  playing  back 
ward  and  forward  through  these-  two  decades  of  time,  I  ask  my 
self,  Are  these  things  real?  did  they  happen?  are  they  beinp 
enacted  to-day?  or  are  they  the  fancies  of  the  imagination  in 
forgetful  reverie  ?     Is  it  true  that  I  have  seen  all  these  things  ? 
that  they  are  real  incidents  in  my  life's  history  ?     Did  I  sec 
those  brave  and  noble  countrymen  of  mine  laid  low  in  death  and 
weltering  in  their  blood  ?     Did  I  see  our  country  laid  waste  and 
in  ruins  ?     Did  I  see  soldiers  marching,  the  earth  trembling 
and  jarring  beneath  their  measured  tread  ?     Did  I  see  the  ruins 
of  smouldering  cities  and  deserted  homes  ?     Did  I  see  my  com 
rades  buried  and  see  the  violet  and  wild  flowers  bloom  over  then 
graves  ?     Did  I  see  the  flag  of  my  country,  that  I  had  followed 
so  long,  furled  to  be  no  more  unfurled  forever  ?     Surely  they 
are  but  the  vagaries  of  mine  own  imagination.      Surely  my  fan 
cies  are  running  wild  to-night.     But,  hush !     I  now  hear  tiu 
approach  of  battle.      That  low,  rumbling  sound  in  the  west  is 
the  roar  of  cannon  in  the  distance.      That  rushing  sound  is  the 
tread  of  soldiers.      That  quick,  lurid  glare  is  the  flash  that  pre 
cedes  the  cannon's   roar.     And   listen!   that  loud  report  thai 


THE   SURRENDER.  223 

makes  the  earth  tremble  and  jar  and  sway,  is  but  the  bursting 
of  a  shell,  as  it  screams  through  the  dark,  tempestuous  night. 
That  black,  ebon  cloud,  where  the  lurid  lightning  flickers  and 
flares,  that  is  rolling  through  the  heavens,  is  the  smoke  of  battle ; 
beneath  is  being  enacted  a  carnage  of  blood  and  death.  Listen ! 
the  soldiers  are  charging  now.  The  flashes  and  roaring  now 
are  blended  with  the  shouts  of  soldiers  and  confusion  of  battle. 

But,  reader,  time  has  brought  his  changes  since  I,  a  young 
ardent,  and  impetuous  youth,  burning  with  a  lofty  patriotism 
first  shouldered  my  musket  to  defend  the  rights  of  my  country. 

Lifting  the  veil  of  the  past,  I  see  many  manly  forms,  bright 
in  youth  and  hope,  standing  in  view  by  my  side  in  Company  H, 
First  Tennessee  Regiment.  Again  I  look  and  half  those  forms 
are  gone.  Again,  and  gray  locks  and  wrinkled  faces  and  clouded 
brows  stand  before  me. 

Before  me,  too,  I  see,  not  in  imagination,  but  in  reality, 
my  own  loved  Jennie,  the  partner  of  my  joys  and  the  sharer  of 
my  sorrows,  sustaining,  comforting,  and  cheering  my  pathway 
by  her  benignant  smile ;  pouring  the  sunshine  of  domestic  com 
fort  and  happiness  upon  our  humble  home;  making  life  more 
worth  the  living  as  we  toil  on  up  the  hill  of  time  together,  with 
the  bright  pledges  of  our  early  and  constant  love  by  our  side 
while  the  sunlight  of  hope  ever  brightens  our  pathway,  dispell 
ing  darkness  and  sorrow  as  we  hand  in  hand  approach  the  valley 
of  the  great  shadow. 

The  tale  is  told.  The  world  moves  on,  the  sun  shines  as 
brightly  as  before,  the  flowers  bloom  as  beautifully,  the  birds 
sing  their  carols  as  sweetly,  the  trees  nod  and  bow  their  leafy 
tops  as  if  slumbering  in  the  breeze,  the  gentle  winds  fan  our 
brow  and  kiss  our  cheek  as  they  pass  by,  the  pale  moon  sheds 
her  silvery  sheen,  the  blue  dome  of  the  sky  sparkles  with  the 
trembling  stars  that  twinkle  and  shine  and  make  night  beautiful, 
and  the  scene  melts  and  gradually  disappears  forever. 

THE  END. 


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